#very daunted indeed

[earlgreydream]

His. | Loki x reader smut

I finally the Loki tv show… this does NOT have any spoilers, it’s set on Asgard with a newly appointed king and his coronation gift…

cw: d/s

“Leave any traces of fear in this room.” The command was clear, spoken sharply by a royal attendant.

Your gaze didn’t leave the fragrant water of the bath you knelt in, the attendant taking care to wash every inch of your skin. Other women pulled fluttering silks from a wardrobe, lying it out for you and finding jewelry to match. So much led to this moment, and yet it didn’t seem real — anticipation and anxiety buzzing in your head. You’d been told once already to contain the obvious fear that lingered in your chest, but the daunting task of doing so seemed impossible when your fate was waiting on a silver platter, the moment you left the private chamber you were being bathed in.

“Come, out of the water before your skin wrinkles,” you were hauled to your feet, wrapped in towels and rubbed down by several girls with movements so quick, you were barely left time to react.

Hands massaged your tense limbs, covering them in oils that bloomed with exotic scents, leaving your skin gleaming. At the same time, your hair was fixed, emeralds — his favorite — twisted into the locks and fastening to bare your neck.

“It’s customary to dress her in white,” a handmaiden spoke of you as if you were not there.

“The prince prefers black.” The will of your all-powerful god silenced any protest, everyone moving to do his bidding.

The women fretted — you had to be perfect for him. They prepared you to be presented to the god, as a divine gift to honor the crown prince of Asgard. You were bathed, decorated, and dressed, all to please the god you were gifted to, an expectation that you’d been bred for. It was a great honor to be taken from the hills, to the castle of the gods, to walk amongst the divine, even if it meant your role was to do as your master saw fit, obeying every command. You had come to terms with it, knowing that upon prince Loki’s rise to the throne, you were the sacrifice — the gift — of the kingdom, a promise of good fortune and favor granted in return.

It all seemed like a far-away, distant dream in a future that would never come. Despite that, here you were, relinquishing your whole self to Asgard’s throne. You had never met the god, and never seen him up close. Of course you’d heard the stories, the wrath and prowess of the young prince, and even seen him from a distance — but being in his presence was something entirely new, before being expected to spend the rest of time at his mercy.

Asgardian silk draped over your skin, so light you wouldn’t know it was there. Your decency was concealed beneath expensive black fabric, hiding what was only meant for Loki to see in the moments after this. The handmaidens’ fussing finally ceased, ending the long evening of preparation.

“Come with me, and do as you’re told,” the woman in charge ushered you forward, opening the chamber doors, releasing you out of known captivity into unpredictability.

You swallowed the fear in your throat, steps silent as you followed her to the throne room, the festivities growing louder as you approached your fate. Before you were given a moment to hesitate, you were led into the cavernous room of gold and heavenly magic.

All at once, it fell silent as soldiers escorted you to the throne. There he was — the god himself, draped over his golden throne. Loki was the only one adorned finer than you, a golden helm atop his onyx waves, wild cerulean eyes that bore straight into your soul.

“Your majesty, a gift in exchange for your benevolence,” the ceremony’s representative from your kingdom presented you to Loki, a hand on your shoulder forcing you to kneel before the throne.

A dangerous smile curved the god’s lips, placing his scepter aside as he rose to his feet.

“A very generous gift indeed,” Loki’s lyrical voice wrapped around your throat, stealing the air from your lungs.

He was impossibly tall and lean as he approached you, toned muscles visible even through the heavy layers of leather and gold that adorned his figure. Loki was no mere prince, but a god of mischief, holding an entire world in the palm of his delicate hand. A dark mischief glittered in his eyes, the gorgeous royal leaning down to look closely at you.

He tilted your chin up, looking him directly in the eye, immediately disarmed and vulnerable as you did so. His expression changed almost imperceptibly, gone from his eyes in a flash as he looked away from you, addressing the court who had handed you over.

Your ears were ringing too loudly to hear what he said, your head spinning. A solider moved to guide you to sit at the base of the throne, at Loki’s feet, when you were suddenly snapped back into the present moment.

“You will not lay a hand on what is mine!” Loki’s shout thundered through the chamber, stopping the man before he could touch you.

The soldier quickly fell back, recognizing the lethal danger of disrespecting Loki. An entire room held its breath, the seconds agonizing, exhaling only when Loki motioned for festivities to resume.

Despite the advice to hide your fear, Loki could practical feel your startled fright. Everything else blurred into the background, the celebration entertaining itself, leaving you and Loki at the center of your own universe.

Loki leaned down with an outstretched hand, his expression softening as you met his gaze. He had not yet spoken directly to you, but you didn’t need instruction to place your hand in his, allowing his strength to move you forward. Loki guided you to kneel at his feet as he resumed his place on the throne, slotted between his long legs.

Delicate fingers gently tilted your chin to look up at him, the touch startlingly gentle, a stark contrast to what you’d been warned of.

“There is a long night of festivities ahead, you may rest on me if you grow weary,” Loki granted you permission to lie your head against his thigh, to sink back into the new shelter.

You gave a small nod of understanding, looking back down as his attention was demanded from another round of celebration.

Despite the dizzying commotion of Loki’s ceremony, your limbs became heavy and keeping your eyes open was a losing battle. Loki peered down at you as you slowly laid your head against his leg, letting your exhausted body rest for the first time.

A fierce desire to protect you swelled in Loki’s chest, suddenly cross with the noise and lights that combatted your sleep. As he continued to entertain offerings of exotic fruits and tributes from his kingdoms, Loki moved a leg in front of you, glaring at anyone who so much as looked too long in your direction.

He couldn’t imagine how drained you were, to sleep through the chaos. Your weight rested against his leg, though you didn’t let yourself fully drift into deep sleep, some part of you making sure that you were upright, not wanting to displease him.

Loki carefully supported you as he stood, lifting you off the floor with godly strength. The festivities continued without him — kings, gods, and valkyrie reenacting stories of battles and playing with magic in the great halls.

He’d had quite enough of the noise and empty affection, and desired nothing more than some quiet time alone with his offering.

“Careful,” he warned softly as you began to stir, strengthening his grip to keep you from falling.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled, your first words spoken in a haze of exhaustion.

“It’s alright, you’re free to rest,” Loki laid you down on his bed the moment you entered the privacy of his chambers.

Golden floors were etched in sweeping illustrations of history and mythology, telling the stories of your god beneath the bed draped in dark green silks. Huge doors opened to a veranda, a summer breeze ruffling the curtains, allowing glimpses of glittering astronomy overhead.

Your mind yearned to stay awake, to learn your surroundings and stay vigilant in the presence of Loki. Despite that, your body screamed for sleep, sinking into the soft bedding he had placed you on.

.

Loki watched you sleep.

Exhaustion kept your body rigidly still, not moving once the entire night. You stayed curled up in the very corner of the expansive bed, out of reach of Loki, who eventually took his place as the sun cracked the horizon.

The only indication you were real, was the gentle rise and fall of your back as you breathed. As you slept, the frightened expression vanished from your face, softening the your features. Loki couldn’t take his eyes off of you, studying your almost peaceful face.

Loki drifted in and out of sleep, not bothering to wake you after such a late and overwhelming night. You must have been weary, because you couldn’t have been comfortable, making yourself as small as possible at the very edge of the bed, not wanting to take up too much of Loki’s space.

You slowly opened your eyes, sunlight streaming in through the open veranda. The morning seemed impossibly peaceful, despite waking up into a new life of servitude. This didn’t feel like what you’d expected — waking up in a comfortable bed with the warm sun on your face, the scent of breakfast wafting from a huge spread on the chamber’s dining table.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki’s voice was much softer in the privacy of the chambers, without an audience.

You sat up, looking over as he stood from a couch, setting aside a novel. He was more relaxed, wearing loose black linen, his hair tied up loosely.

“Hi,” you whispered, at a loss for words — partially in awe of how gorgeous he was, and partially cautious, as if he were a cobra waiting to strike at any wrong move.

He watched as you observed your surroundings, inspecting your golden cage in the light of day. Loki’s chambers were beautiful, bright, and serene. It seemed so divorced from the perception you had of the god before being let in to the most private part of his existence. Loki moved smoothly throughout the room, delicate hands attached to a lean, muscular body. Loki’s face was sculpted out of marble, so stunningly beautiful it left you breathless. Green eyes pierced straight into your soul, laid bare when he looked at you.

“Eat something,” he gestured to the feast at the table, as if he were the devil, offering food to a goddess to keep captive in his lair forever.

It was your job to obey, your body moving before your mind even considered protest. The shimmering gown you were wearing the night before swept the floor as you walked, Loki admiring how beautiful you were, even slightly disheveled.

You hesitantly took a berry from the table, bringing it to your lips, licking the sweetness off your fingertips. The sight stirred something inside of Loki, his gaze focusing on the contours of your body that were visible through the just-sheer parts of the fabric draped over you.

“Master?” You could feel the weight of his gaze, invisibly drawing you to him.

Loki stepped toward you, pleased as you sank to your knees without any encouragement, easing into his submission. You wanted it, needed it, like your lungs needed air. A shimmer of green made your clothing disappear, baring you fully to Loki’s intoxicated gaze.

“Look at you, fit for a god,” he praised, slowly circling you as you kneeled, appreciating you from every angle.

“Only for you, master.”

“Loki,” he permitted you to call him by name, a request that pulled the corners of your lips up with small satisfaction.

The floor was cold beneath your knees, and your skin began to prick beneath a cool breeze from the veranda. Loki swelled over the recognition that you were his, and his alone. He was hard in the loose linen pants, eager to claim full ownership of you in such an intimate way. You willingly surrendered to him, practically desperate for him to take you, to consummate your submission to the god.

Your hands smoothed up the solid muscles of Loki’s thighs — limbs you wish to be bent over — before clutching the linen waistband and dragging down his trousers. The sight of him hung heavy made your mouth water and your cunt throb, desire swirling in your belly.

“Go ahead. Touch me as you please, I’m as much yours as you are mine,” Loki murmured, realizing you were waiting for permission, to do as you were told.

Long fingers wove into your hair, cradling the side of your head, pulling only slightly as you licked the tip of his cock, sending a shock up his spine.

He leaned back against the wall, smirking as your left palm flattened over his toned abs to brace yourself, pleased that you were trusting his words.

“Gods,” Loki swore when you took him in your mouth, letting him push you down until he was filling your throat.

Pretty tears welled at your lashes at his size, your throbbing need beginning to smear between your thighs. Your free hand worked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, your tongue dragging up his shaft. He was both long and thick, his skin like velvet on your tongue. It was a feat to take even half of him in your mouth, and you moaned and the thought of him fucking you, and how you’d beg to take it all.

“If worshipping my cock makes you wet enough to drip on my floor, I’ll let you do it every morning,” Loki purred with a grin, clearly taking notice of the effect he had on your body.

“Please,” you whimpered respectfully, dragging your fist up his length, giving your mouth a break.

“I’m close, darling, you’re doing beautifully,” he praised, watching your thighs squeeze together at his words.

“I want to come in that gorgeous mouth, feel myself in your throat.”

You tilted your head back just a bit, both to gaze up into his eyes and to let him in deeper. A low whine vibrated around his cock as his hand wrapped around your throat, gently squeezing.

“Fuck,” Loki hissed, spilling over into your mouth, filling your senses with his salty taste.

“Swallow it,” Loki commanded, and you were all too willing to obey, wanting to please him.

His thumb swiped over your lips, cleaning up the bit of mess he made, kneeling in front of you as you both caught your breath.

“Was that okay?” the question slipped out before you could stop yourself, puzzling Loki.

“Of course, it was perfect. Haven’t you done it before?”

“No, I’ve been kept pure for you,” you answered, earning a profane string of Norse as his dick twitched.

“You’ve made me insatiable,” Loki pressed a quick, messy kiss to your mouth that was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“No!” Loki shouted, standing up, displayed in his full glory to the guard who opened the door.

The furious god stood in front of you, blocking any eyes from catching even a glimpse of your body.

“Get out, now, or I shall have your eyes torn out!” Loki thundered, fiercely possessive over you.

“I’m so sorry, your highness. Odin has called on you—”

A sharp burst of Loki’s magic sent the man flying backward with a yell, the door slamming shut behind him.

“I’m sorry-” you began, as if you needed to apologize for being nude.

“I will never let anyone else touch you, see your body, or covet what is mine.”

A warmth spread through you at the words, taking his hand to stand up. He took a cloth, carefully cleaning you up, before guiding you into a closet that was full of the finest Asgardian fabrics.

“We’ll continue this later, darling, but for now, you’ll accompany me on whatever nonsense I’m being summoned for,” Loki explained, moving to dress himself as he left you to choose what maids had left for your arrival.

You chose green, pleasing the god as you adorned his colors, another sign of your growing devotion. Loki kissed your wrist, before a band of gold appeared in a shimmer, bringing a smile to your face.

He wordlessly led you out of his chambers, a hand at the small of your back. Being with him was intense — but the castle and all of its people was overwhelming. You found yourself leaning into Loki’s side, away from the noise of shouting and chaos of the everyday happenings.

He looked up from the throne to see what was bothering you before pulling you to sit between his legs where you could sink back into him and ignore the noise.

“We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished. Until then, you can entertain yourself by picturing what I’m going to do to your precious little pussy,” Loki whispered against the side of your face, gently nipping your ear.

You shuddered against his chest, feeling him chuckle beneath you as his arm tightened on your waist. Warmth flushed your cheeks and you turned your face into his arm, shy at the filthy words from Loki. He could feel your heart racing inside your ribs, anxious to tear the emerald gown from your body.

You were lost in your thoughts when Loki banished everyone from the expansive throne room, giant doors embedded with gemstones slamming shut, sealing you alone with him.

“Now, where were we?” Loki asked, mouthing hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“I believe you were about to fuck me, Loki,” you chirped.

“I love hearing those dirty words on your lips, all for me.”

“Only you,” you promised, closing the gap as he hovered above you.

The kiss was heady, his tongue warm and dominating as he pushed it past your lips. The sensation nearly distracted you from his hands, that were tearing the fabric around your torso, letting it flutter to the floor in shimmering pieces.

“I’m going to fuck you here, on this throne, like a proper king.”

You parted your legs, letting his hand drop between them. Loki smirked into your neck as he cupped your sex, feeling how wet you were, desperate for him as heat radiated from your center.

He didn’t bother to turn you over, perfectly happy to fuck you while you were on top of him, lying on his chest as he sat upon his throne. He glided his cock along your wet lips, only a moment until you were squirming with desperation.

He wanted to hear you beg, but even he couldn’t wait any longer, slowly sinking into you, every inch stretching you impossibly further. The sweet sting made you cry out, your head dropping back on his shoulder when he nestled himself fully inside you.

“You’re perfect for me,” Loki praised through gritted teeth, fighting not to slam into you like an animal. He could feel your walls throbbing around him, muscles burning as they were forced to take the stretch to fit him inside — and you loved it.

You doubted anything would ever feel so good, until his hips started to roll forward, the god fucking you deep and slow, holding your body against his chest. He buried his face in your shoulder, soaking up your squeals of pleasure as he lost himself in you.

Before he even thought to play with you, your cunt began to clench around him with an impending orgasm. Your startled whimper shot straight to Loki’s dick, and he fucked you harder, unable to help himself.

“Come around me, darling, let me know how good you feel,” Loki urged, nearly spilling into you as you trembled in his arms, coming with a scream that echoed off the walls.

“There you go,” he murmured, twitching before he filled you with his seed, painting your insides with him.

Your breaths were ragged and uneven, mind completely foggy in the aftermath. He breathed in your scent as he stayed inside you, preserving the moment for as long as possible.

“I’m yours, forever,” you whispered, as if reading his mind.

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[janeyseymour]

Hi, I feel like there’s not enough jealous Melissa fics, so I wanted to request one where reader is a new librarian, and because she dresses really nice Ava immediately takes a liking to her, and Melissa gets jealous because she takes a liking to her too. But obviously at the end Melissa x reader end up together. Can have smut or not, your choice. Thank you!

ask and you shall receive! i hope you enjoy!

Love In the Library

WC: ~3.9k

Your interview at Abbott had gone well- perfect, even. The principal of the school was full of life, and you could tell that you were going to absolutely love it here as librarian. She seemed just as thrilled that you were joining their team- apparently they haven’t had a librarian for a good chunk of time.

You walk into the school on the first day of professional development dressed well- you figured it would be a good idea since Ava dressed so nicely, and you were aware that the students wore their light blue uniforms.

As you enter, you’re greeted by the principal, who tells you that the first meeting of the year will indeed be held in your space, which is entirely fine with you. Hopefully, you’ll be able to meet a few of your coworkers and find the group that you’ll find yourself a part of- that would be nice. First days, even first weeks and months can be daunting, and it’s always a bit easier when you find people who might be in your corner.

You’re seated at your desk and looking over the catalogue of books you have- seeing how you can begin to organize everything (most things weren’t very organized) when the rest of the faculty starts to trickle in. You smile at the few who walk in first, but it immediately becomes a bit overwhelming when more and more people start to make their way in. You find yourself to be grateful that you have your own assigned spot at your desk. They all converse and catch up on what they had done over their summers, and you don’t really know how to insert yourself into any of those conversations, so you just look around and try to find anybody who might be kind to you.

As you’re people watching, a small group of teachers come in. In that group is a short younger woman, a taller black man conversing with a slightly shorter white man, and two teachers who are clearly veterans. The one is absolutely captivating with her pleather pants, heeled doc martens, and the way that her hair is curled softly and falls over her shoulders beautifully. The light pink shirt that she wears compliments her hair beautifully. You catch her take a glance over at you, and you feel a shiver run through your body as her emerald green eyes sparkle in your direction. She’s absolutely gorgeous.

It looks as though she’s going to make her way over to you, but Ava cuts her off by entering the room in what you can always assume is true Ava fashion, what with the mixed groans from the rest of the staff. You stay seated at your desk and watch as the redhead takes a seat at the front table with her friends. Her eyes linger on you though throughout most of the meeting- you can feel her staring at you. 

You snap out of your trance when you hear your name come out of the principal’s mouth. You blush bright red, but you give a gentle wave of your hand.

Ava really hypes you up, explaining that you’re the best thing that’s come around to Abbott in quite a long time- that you’re a bad bitch with good fashion, fashion that almost competes with hers.

You see the way that the redhead rolls her eyes at that comment before looking you up and down.

The meeting drones on for a while longer before the staff is able to participate in a few different seminars or set up their classrooms.

You have your head down as everyone mills around, mingling and heading out. That is until you see a hand on your desk. When you glance up, there are those striking green eyes that were staring at you through the entirety of the meeting.

“Hi?” you squeak out.

“You the new librarian?” the redhead asks.

You nod and swallow before introducing yourself, although you know she already knows your name. “And you?” you ask politely.

“Melissa Schemmenti, second grade teacher,” she tells you, and you shake her hand firmly. “I’m gonna need one of the copies of the book, The Name Jar.”

You nod and smile. “I can definitely find that for you. It’s for a beginning of the year lesson, I assume?”

“It is,” she says shortly.

“I’ll have it for you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” the second grade teacher smiles at you.

You’re able to locate the book relatively easily, and with a bit of exploring the school, you’re able to find the classroom that has her name on it. She’s in the process of writing out name tags for her students and putting them at the desks when you knock on the door gently.

She glances up at you before pushing her glasses up and off her face, resting them on the top of her head.

“Just dropping off the book you requested,” you say softly. “Is there anywhere specific you want me to put it?”

She stands up straight, rights her shirt, and gives you a genuine smile. You love to see that smile of hers. 

“I can take it,” she says softly, and she makes her way over to you. Her hand brushes yours for about half of a second before she actually takes the book from out of your hands, and you swear you feel a rush of electricity between the two of you. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you smile right back, and she immediately wants to always see that beaming look on your face. “If you need any other books, let me know. I’m going to try to have the library organized by the end of September.”

When you go to get your lunch, the redhead is there, and so is your boss.

“There’s our sexy new librarian,” Ava winks at you. You turn bright red. You know you’re… not the ugliest women in the world, but this is a lot. “Girl, don’t act like you don’t know you look like a Philly eleven in that sexy dress of yours.”

You chuckle nervously as you glance down at the dress you were done up in. You look at the other teachers, and maybe you were a bit overdressed. “Have a nice lunch, guys,” you say as you go to head back to your room.

“I ain’t stayin’ in here to listen to your boring teacher talk,” Ava sighs dramatically. “But I’ll see you all later, losers!” She winks at you again, and you can feel the blush that had begun to diminish come back in full force.

“Oi,” you hear Melissa call out as you’re at the threshold of the door. “Come eat lunch with us.”

You don’t notice the strange looks that your coworkers give the second grade teacher, but you smile softly. 

“Really?” Janine asks, jaw dropped.

“Oh, it’s… okay,” you say softly. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You ain’t intruding,” the second grade teacher is adamant, so you sit down next to her.

Barbara looks confused, but she doesn’t say anything at all. The teachers take their time getting to know you, and Melissa’s eyes find yours quite a few times, giving you reassuring looks and smiles.

You head out a few minutes before everyone else, and once you’re gone, Melissa’s friends look at her like she’s got three heads.

“What?” the redhead asks as she sips her iced tea.

“When did you get all friendly to newbies?” Barbara asks.

“Seriously,” Gregory puts in. “When I first started, you refused to learn my name for the first month I was here.”

The second grade teacher rolls her eyes. “And look where we are now… might as well give it a shot being nice to the newcomers.”

Barbara eyes her warily, but she doesn’t say anything in front of the full group. When the two of them are walking out though, they see you.

You wave quietly as you stack your things into your car to continue working on your organization, and the gorgeous teacher waves back with a smile.

You climb into your car, pull on your sunglasses, and head out. 

“Girl, you like her,” Barbara nudges hr best friend.

Melissa rolls those green eyes of her. “Yeah. I’m the queen of England too.”

The kindergarten teacher hums, and while she doesn’t say anything, she knows that her work wife has a thing for you. It’s clear in her eyes and the way that she invited you in so sweetly.

“Well, maybe this will be good,” Barb states. “We have a new librarian, she seems like a sweet girl, and Ava isn’t making fun of her.”

“No,” the redhead frowns. “She’s flirting with her instead.”

“That a problem for you?”

“Shut up. I’ll see you tomorrow,” the redhead rolls her eyes as she climbs into her car. 

The next few days of development go the same for you, organizing the many books, going through the catalogue to see what books you might be able to add to the collection 

(whether that be from home or you can try to scrounge up the money to buy them at a thrift store). Melissa often appears in the library, claiming to look for a book, but most of the time she just ends up chatting with you- you don’t mind one bit. You sit with them at lunch, and you quite enjoy getting to hear Melissa laugh and listen to her talk.

Ava still flirts with you everyday, and while her compliments are appreciated, you never fail to turn as red as a tomato.

When the kids start to come into the school the following week, a few of the older ones are shocked to actually have a librarian. Furthermore, they can’t believe that they’ll actually have library as a special.

You begin to learn the children, and they absolutely adore you. You have quickly become one of the kids’ favorite teachers. In the first month alone, you’ve been given a ream of papers’ worth of drawings- it melts your heart. The older ones come and talk to you in the mornings before they actually have to head to class, and the little ones flock to you for hugs whenever they can. It’s safe to say you love being here at Abbott with these kids.

It’s also safe to say that you like most of the staff that you’re with, although you’ve found yourself a part of a certain group; one with the most attractive teacher in the school: Melissa Schemmenti.

You find yourself being drawn to her presence, and she’s drawn to you too. You spend your time with her and Barbara as often as possible, more than happy to listen to whatever the two of them are up to. 

But with being friends with them also brings Ava around quite a bit. She is constantly looking for the two of them for advice on how to discipline and run the school. It also gives her an excuse to come flirt with you. Her comments are starting to get more and more scandalous, and she’s practically taking off your clothes with her eyes any time she’s talking to the three of you. You notice the way that the redhead seated next to you almost always scowls.

You almost wonder if you should go to HR for her looks and words.

“Melissa,” Barbara singsongs as the two of them are leaving lunch that day. Ava had come in and shamelessly flirted with you. “Turn that frown upside down!”

“I ain’t in a mood, Barb,” the second grade teacher grumbles.

“That face says otherwise,” the kindergarten teacher clicks her tongue. “When are you just going to admit the fact that you hate that Ava flirts with Y/N because you like her?!”

“I do not,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I just think Ava needs to stop eye-fucking her anytime she sees her.”

“While I agree with that,” Barb sighs. “No one gets nearly as upset with that as you do, and I think it’s because you genuinely do have feelings for her.”

Melissa bites her lip. “So what if I do? It don’t matter. She’s young, I’m me. And we’re coworkers.”

“Being her boss isn’t stopping Ava from flirting with her,” Barbara points out. “C’mon. Just give it some thought.’

The redhead groans. She knows her best friend knows about her little crush on you now.

The next day, Barbara waltzes into Ava’s office.

“Girl, I wouldn’t usually condone this, but you need to continue to flirt with Y/N as much as possible.”

“That won’t be hard,” the principal laughs. “She’s a fine piece of ass. But why?”

“Melissa has a huge thing for Y/N, and I can just tell that our little librarian has a thing for Melissa too. You know the best way to get her to confess her feelings is to make her so jealous she can’t bite her tongue any longer.”

“Damn, you don’t think I got a shot?”

“Ava,” Barbara rubs her temples. “Might I remind you that you are in a relationship.”

“And?”

“Ava!”

“What?” Ava raises her brows. “You think I don’t want to-”

“You know what? Nevermind,” the kindergarten teacher goes to turn on her heels.

“Wait!” Ava calls. “But you really don’t think I have a chance?”

“What I think is that Y/N is a respectful, young woman who would not want to… partake in the activities that you are alluding to.”

“You never know,” the principal shrugs. “What’s in it for me?”

“A nice bottle of wine, and I’ll go out to the club with you the next time you tell us we’re all getting together for dinner but inevitably end up going somewhere else.”

“Oh, hell yeah. But I get to pick the bottle.”

“Only if my plan works, and Melissa and Y/N get their heads out of their asses and date.”

“You have yourself a deal, Barb,” the principal grins before going back to scrolling through Instagram.

Ava’s flirting only gets worse from here, and she purposely does it in front of Melissa whenever she gets the chance. While Barb is naturally appalled at the things that the principal is saying to you, she knows its worth it when she can practically see the steam pouring out of her work wife’s ears.

It’s picture day at school, and you know you’re going to be forced to get your picture taken as much as you don’t want to. So, you apply some light makeup and dress yourself in a white body suit and a flowered skirt that has a rather high slit up the side. It shows off some skin, but you know that you can always adjust the skirt if necessary so it’s not too revealing.

That was a mistake though- or at least you think it is when Ava starts commenting about you having a body that ‘challenges Beyoncé’. Her eyes linger on your still sun kissed thighs as you make your way into the building. You thank her for her compliment, but you don’t play into it any further than that. You make your way to the break room to drop off your lunch and make yourself another cup of coffee when you run into the redhead.

She looks absolutely stunning. Melissa really hasn’t done anything special for picture day- she just always looks gorgeous to you. 

“Hey, good morning,” you say as you fall into step with her. Her eyes rake you up and down, and you feel a blush creep into your cheeks when she subconsciously licks her lips.

The two of you walk into the break room together and are sipping your coffees when the principal comes in again.

She makes an absolutely obscene comment about you and the way that your chest is comparable to that of the redhead’s, despite the fact that you hardly have any cleavage showing. That makes Melissa almost as red as her hair, but she puffs out her own chest. But then… she says something about the slit in your skirt and something about it looks stunning on you, but it would look better on her bedroom floor with her boyfriend.

At that comment, you suck a deep breath in and try to cover how embarrassed your feeling.

“Ava!” Barbara nearly shouts.

“Well,” the principal shrugs at the deafening silence in the room. “I have to go do principal things, y’all.”

As Ava leaves the room, the kindergarten teacher gives Ava a look, but it’s almost a mildly impressed look.

You can’t look at anyone, so you practically rush out of the room with your coffee.

At your sudden exit, Melissa looks furious. “I have to go do some work.” She storms off, and out of the room in order to go yell at her boss for embarrassing you in front of everyone.

“I should check on Y/N,” Barbara says softly before following your direction. She knows that those comments made you more uncomfortable than any of her others, and she knows she has to stop you from making a complaint to the HR department about the conversation that just took place. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Barb says softly as she enters the library.

Your hands are in your head, and the red in your cheeks hasn’t disappeared in the slightest.

“H-hey,” you mumble.

“Don’t mind Ava,” she tells you softly. “She used to say stuff like that to Gregory all the time, and eventually she’ll move on to someone else.”

“Does she always do this? Shouldn’t she get into trouble for that?” you ask quietly.

The kindergarten teacher waves a hand. “Our HR department never does anything but bounce the emails back to the principal of the person who sent them… the last time someone did that, we had a ‘bonding session’ because Janine emailed them. It’s not even worth your time.”

“But… that was…”

“A lot,” Barbara sets a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know. But trust me on this one: it isn’t worth it. And she likes you, so she’ll be willing to help you out when you need it. If you report her, she’ll only make your life that much harder. Just let her flirting die out, honey.”

You frown. “I guess… I need this job.”

“I know.”

“And I love this job.”

“We love having you here,” the older teacher squeezes your shoulder gently. “And the kids- they absolutely adore you. We hope you’ll decide to stay with us for a long time.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Are you okay other than all of that?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Barbara smiles at you charmingly. 

She exits, and you sigh. You should probably talk to your boss about the things that she  says to and about you… how it makes you uncomfortable. So, with your head down and cheeks still burning, you make your way down to the office. You stop just short of the principal’s when you hear a familiar voice shouting at the woman you were going to talk to.

“Ava!” the redhead storms into the office. “What the fuck?!”

The principal laughs. “What, girl?”

“What the hell was that? The shit you were sayin’ to Y/N in the break room? I know you usually say stuff you shouldn’t, but God dammit, that was over the line!”

“And? Why do you care so much?” Ava asks nonchalantly. “You jealous?”

“Jealous?” Melissa glares, looking utterly confused. “Why the hell would I be jealous of saying absolutely deplorable things to the sweet girl? Why on God’s green Earth would I be jealous of saying the absolute truth that she’s hot as hell?”

Ava smirks. “You think she’s hot?”

Fuck. Melissa’s been caught.

“You think Y/N’s hot?” Ava grins.

“No!” the redhead rolls her eyes. “I just don’t think you should be sayin’ shit like that to her!”

“You think she’s hot!” the principal singsongs. “Girl, just admit it!”

“Okay,” the redhead sighs. “If I admit that I think she’s hot, you can’t keep saying stuff about her like this.”

“Say it,” Ava teases.

“Ava,” Melissa groans.

“Say it!”

“Okay,” the second grade teacher huffs. “I think she’s hot. I like her, and not just for her looks. Now stop talking to her and about her the way that you have been.”

“Girl,” Ava grins. “You want me to flirt with her for you?”

“No,” Melissa rolls her eyes. “If and when I decide to make a move on her, I can do it on my own terms. Remember, I am a Philly eleven.”

With that, she turns on her heel and exits the office… only to bump into you.

Your eyes are wide, your cheeks and ears are burning, and… did she just admit she thinks you’re hot? The woman that you’ve developed a small crush on actually has a thing for you too?

“Shit.”

“Uh…” you nervously tuck a loose hair behind your ear.

“How much of that did you hear?” she asks you quietly.

“I uh, have to talk to Ava,” you evade her question.

You don’t give Melissa a chance to say anything else before you knock on the door and enter before closing it behind you.

By the time you’re finished with your conversation with Ava, you barely have time to run down to the library before you know the kiddos will start trickling in… and you’re not entirely sure you even know how to approach the situation you’ve found yourself in with the redheaded teacher.

That’ll have to wait.

But when you get to the library doors, Melissa is standing there waiting for you. She looks incredibly nervous as she taps her foot.

“Melissa,” you say softly.

She just takes your hand and pulls you into the library before taking you to your desk- which remains just out of sight from the door.

“Shouldn’t you be in your classroom to wait for your kids?”

“I got Janine to watch them for arrival,” she tells you. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” you say softly. “You are a Philly eleven, you know.” 

And then you press your lips gently to hers. She kisses you back just as softly, and you can’t help but pull her in a bit closer.

But then you have to pull away. You know the older kids that come to your room will be there far too quickly, and you really don’t want them to catch you kissing their old second grade teacher.

“Y/N,” Melissa whispers.

“Go back to your classroom,” you say softly. “The kids that come to me in the morning will be here soon, and I don’t need rumors about the two of us going around.”

“Yeah,” the redhead agrees. “That probably wouldn’t be too great.”

You hum.

“So…” she says quietly though. “I’ll see you at my house tonight for dinner?”

You nod.

“It’s a date,” she promises as she squeezes your hand gently. With those words, she leaves your room just as one of your kiddos is coming in.

“Hey, Serena,” you smile softly. You immediately turn on your warm teacher voice, and Melissa can’t help but turn around and watch as the student comes over and embraces you.

The sunlight through the window hits you perfectly, and you look angelic.

While Melissa had initially taken a liking to you because of your looks (you might just be a Philly twelve), the heart of gold that you have is what made her really fall for you.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 1

(The Firefighter/Cop AU)

-----

Kara knows her local fire station. How could she not? Being a field sergeant for NCPD, not a week goes by that she’s not at a scene with a ladder, engine or ambulance. Even so, when Engine 13 pulls up on the scene of an apartment fire, a new face comes to get a sit-rep. She’s sure the woman asks some very good questions, but only one word fires across Kara’s mind and out of her mouth.

“M-march?”

The firefighter’s brow furrows. “Sorry?”

God her voice is as beautiful as she is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” Kara stammers.

“I asked how many were still inside?” The woman is clearly still befuddled by Kara’s blurt, but she stays on topic.

Kara clears her throat. “We think three. One is a three year old on the third floor with her mother.”

The firefighter nods. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says with that same throaty voice. She turns to her crew and begins issuing orders. Kara notes that the men– and all of them are indeed men– launch into motion without question. Huh. Kara files that information away for later.

Kara’s job is done. She steps back to help with crowd control, leaving the rescue team to do their job. She trusts they know what they’re doing, she knows they do. But she can’t help the way her jaw clenches when they file through the smoking door, Firefighter March in the lead.

She can’t believe she did that. March?! Absolutely no one needs to know her familiarity with the NCFD annual calendar. She’d purchased one for the charity of it all, but the moment she’d seen the portrait for March she’d been done for. Let’s just say it’s been March for the past four months.

She must be a transfer from another station, Kara figures. Her image in the calendar confirms that much, let alone the authority she carries within her station's crew. Kara can only hope March doesn’t make the connection between the calendar and Kara’s word vomit.

That hope is dashed after March re-emerges with a middle-aged woman slung over her shoulders (with her comrade carrying the three year old steps behind her) and the fire is reduced to little more than heat and smoke. After passing the mother over to the paramedics, March catches her gaze and approaches, lifting her helmet free of her head to reveal mussed dark hair.

March grins, tucking her helmet under her left arm. “Sergeant,” she greets. “I missed your name earlier.”

“Danvers,” Kara returns, accepting March’s extended hand in a handshake. “Kara Danvers. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“I appreciate that,” comes the easy response. “I’m Lieutenant Reilly.” 

Kara arches her brow. “Lieutenant?”

“Lena,” she gets with a burst of laughter. “A pleasure.”

For a moment there’s a beat of silence as Kara finds herself tongue-tied. Lieutenant Reilly– Lena– is somehow even more gorgeous sweating with a smudged face and fuzzy hair. Luckily, Lena isn’t nearly so daunted.

“You know,” she says, “being new to the area, I could use a recommendation for a good bar.”

Ohhhhhh, jeezus. Kara recognizes the flirt for what it is, and it fills her belly with butterflies. But she wasn’t made sergeant yesterday. She knows how to give it back.

“I’m sure your guys could point you in a few directions.” She folds her arms over her chest with a teasing smile.

“Ah, but they’re not nearly so cute.”

Lena’s head tilts invitingly, and Kara has no intention of drawing this out.

“Well, then, when can I pick you up?”

Lena beams. “I’m on shift until Sunday. Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow so we can compare calendars?”

Kara freezes. Oh no, oh no, oh–

“I might even sign yours if you ask nicely.”

Lena shoots her a parting wink before sauntering off. Kara’s cheeks flush as she watches her go. Only when she’s sure Lena is engrossed with packing up her team does Kara finally radio her status back to the dispatcher. Almost instantaneously, she gets back the report of a robbery nearby.

“This is Danvers, Unit 1P4 responding.”

#supercorp #firefighter cop au #meet cute #Kara has a-- um... appreciation #yes #Lena is in the calendar

[worseforwords]

The Beginning

(Alessia Russo x Reader)

Chapter II of Marshmallow

The anticipation hung in the air as you opened the door, revealing Alessia to your parents. Greetings were exchanged, and your mom, with a sly grin, asked, “Hi sweetheart, is this her?” You sent her a nervous smile. “Yes, this is my girlfriend, Alessia,” you said, trying your best to sound natural. “Yes, we know who she is, darling. She’s quite the star, you know?” Your dad joked, as if you weren’t also a professional athlete. Chuckles filled your hallway as you invited your parents into your living room.

After the initial polite and just a little awkward introductions, you all settled down at the dinner table. Wine was poured, dinner was served, and the atmosphere was pleasant. Everyone made small talk; your dad made some jokes, and the initial awkwardness melted away easily.

However, you knew your mom well enough to know that as wine continued to flow, it wouldn’t be long before she lost some of her filters. “So, girls,” she began, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, “I don’t recall you two ever being very close. Y/N certainly never spoke about you much. So, tell me. How did this happen?” She waved her index finger between the two of you to explain what she meant by ‘this’.

You shot your mom a glare, a wordless plea to dial it down, rolling your eyes when she didn’t respond and instead looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Fell for my football skills, obviously,” you grinned slyly while internally panicking. Under the table, away from your parents’ gaze, Alessia quickly squeezed your hand, silently signalling that she had this covered, which had you looking at her expectantly.

“Actually, it wasn’t football-related at all,” she started. “You know, on the pitch, Y/N is a force to be reckoned with—focused, passionate, a bit... intimidating, honestly. I always assumed she’d be the same off the pitch.”

She paused, letting curiosity build. “At an away match early in the season, Kyra lost her mother’s necklace. Kyra’s from Australia and had only just moved here to join the team. She was probably hiding how daunting it was to move to the other side of the world at her age.”

In that moment, your eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between you as you realised what story she was about to tell. A subtle smile from her as you wondered if and how she knew about what you did.

“So everyone, all in good spirits of course, teased her about her clumsiness. We were all having a laugh when Y/N left the room quite suddenly, without many people noticing.” Alessia, with a fond smile, continued the story. “When warm-up time came, both Y/N and Kyra were still missing. That’s when I offered to go find them. I discovered them in the dressing room, and there was Y/N, holding Kyra’s necklace in her hand.”

The realisation hit you that she was indeed talking about what you thought she was. You didn’t know she had noticed, and you felt your cheeks flush at the unexpected revelation. Alessia’s tone softened, “Y/N was helping Kyra dry her tears, cracking jokes to cheer her up. It was a side of Y/N that I hadn’t seen on the pitch, a softer, caring side.”

Everyone at the table stayed silent, waiting for Alessia to continue telling her story as she took a quick sip of her wine. “Later, I found out from a staff member that Y/N had insisted on going back to the bus. She didn’t want to leave until she found Kyra’s necklace, tucked in between two chairs.”

As Alessia spoke, her words painting a picture of a side of you that even you hadn’t fully acknowledged, your cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and something else. You hadn’t expected her to notice the small act of kindness, let alone share it with your parents. But, as her words lingered, a warmth spread through you. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

You stared at your plate, trying to hide your now likely glowing cheeks, poking at your food and thinking back to that moment as Alessia continued, her gaze warm as she sent your parents a quick smile, “After that, I started noticing more of these acts of kindness from Y/N, not just for Kyra but for everyone, and never taking any credit for it. It’s those moments that made me fall for her.”

That last sentence had you accidentally drop your fork onto your plate with a loud clang, grabbing your parents’ attention as you looked at Alessia, studying her face as it was now her turn to avoid any eye contact by focusing all her attention on gathering some spaghetti on her fork. You were pretty sure your mom was saying something like “aww” in the background, although that seemed like noise to you as you were sure you saw Alessia’s cheeks flush as well now. She looked flustered, clearly taken aback by her own words, yet somehow all you could think about in that moment was how beautiful that made her look.

The room fell into a brief silence after Alessia’s heartfelt recount of that day. Your heart, which had been racing a moment ago, now thudded softly. Alessia’s gaze now held yours, and suddenly you felt something beyond the charade you were playing. As she looked away again, you found yourself wanting to say something. Yet, words eluded you, and all you managed was a grateful smile.

You pinched yourself under the table, trying to rid your mind of the spiral it was heading towards. It only semi-worked, and any distraction was useless as long as the person causing your inner turmoil was sitting next to you, drowning you in her perfume. You didn’t really think about your actions when you suddenly got up from your place at the table. When you felt everyone’s eyes on you, you quickly stacked some plates, starting to clear the table.

Before you could grab Alessia’s, however, you felt her hand on yours, stopping you in your tracks. “Let me take care of that. Everyone got room for dessert?” Your parents both smiled and nodded as you started to panic again. “Oh, I didn’t g—” you started, but Alessia quickly stopped you again by softly putting her hand on your shoulder and sitting you back down. “Don’t worry, I got this. Just wait here.”

“Did you really do that?” Your mom’s voice drew your attention back to the table. “Yeah,” you said, thankful for the moment of peace as you took a sip of water in an attempt to cool down a bit. “That’s really sweet, honey. I guess we raised you right.”

The three of you chatted away for a few minutes until Alessia returned carrying four plates with some delicious-looking tiramisu. “If you guys are anything like this one over here,” she gestured towards you, “I think you might like what I’ve made.”

Everyone thoroughly enjoyed the surprise dessert as Alessia, upon your mom’s curiosity, spoke about her Italian roots. Your dad remarked that it was the best dessert he had ever had, to which your mom insisted Alessia sent her the recipe as she’d never seen your dad this quiet.

When everyone had finished the delicious tiramisu, your dad mentioned something about a basketball game. Alessia, a bit of a basketball enthusiast herself, asked him which team he supported, and before you knew it, they were caught up in a conversation you and your mom could not contribute to in the slightest. After a while, you decided to just turn on the game for them to watch whilst you and your mom took care of the dishes.

“She’s a catch,” your mom immediately said when you two were alone in the kitchen. “She’s really lovely.” “Yeah, she really is,” you said, and you realised you didn’t have to lie about that. “The way she looks at you, and how she talks about you is really special, Y/N. You should hold on to that,” she added. “I know mum, thanks,” you said, your head starting to spin again wondering what she meant by ‘the way she looks at you’.

When you went back into the living room to collect the last items from the table, you saw Alessia and your dad both shouting angrily at the TV. You chuckled quietly as you picked up an empty wine bottle and some napkins. A warm feeling crept into your stomach as if you had just taken a sip of strong liquor, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you seeing Alessia getting along so well with your dad.

By the time you and your mom had finished cleaning up and going through all the recent family gossip, the game was over, and everyone decided it was time to go bed. Your parents stayed in the guest room, and you and Alessia took off to yours to wait until the coast was clear, and she could sneak off to Lotte’s.

“I think that went pretty well,” Alessia started as she sat down on the edge of your bed. “I hope they liked me.” “Oh, they loved you,” you said. “You were perfect. Thank you for doing this, Alessia.” You sent her a quick but kind smile. “Alessia,” she mumbled. 

“What was that?” You asked. “Oh, nothing. It’s just I’ve noticed you keep calling me Alessia. It’s not very girlfriend-y, is it? Maybe you should call me something cuter,” she said, a teasing grin on her face. 

“Oh, should I now? Like what?” You said, matching her teasing tone, not giving her enough time to answer as you plopped down next to her. “Hmmm shall I call you… buttercup? Sweetie pie?”

“Noooo, none of those please!” She giggled. “Honey? Pumpkin?” You continued. “Y/N! You know what I mean!” She laughingly exclaimed as she grabbed a pillow to smash you with. “Muffin? Marshmallow!” 

You and your snake reflexes caught both her wrists before the pillow could reach your face. “Why are they all food related?” She grunted, trying to escape your grasp. 

“Oh, you want serious ones? Fine. Have it your way, babe,” you grinned smugly. Alessia clearly saw her chance as she stopped trying to rid herself of your grip and instead suddenly lifted herself off the bed, using gravity to push you and the pillow down beneath her.

You knew you had lost the battle when you felt the pillow connect with your face and then your body, Alessia keeping you trapped between the bed and the pillow. “Hey! Is that still not good enough?” You asked, a chuckle escaping your mouth. She pressed down a little harder, grinning at your useless squirming. “Cutie! Sweetheart? Baby girl?” You tried. 

“That’s more like it.” She loosened her grip slightly. “Sunshine,” you added as you used the momentum you gained to push yourself back off the bed. “Beautiful,” you said, a bit more quietly as you suddenly found yourself sitting face to face with Alessia again. 

There was a bit of an awkward silence after that one, your eyes meeting and then both looking away and quickly getting off the bed. “Yeah, that’ll do. Or you know, you can start by calling me Less or Lessi instead of Alessia.”

“Fine, I’ll consider it. I think the coast should be clear by now, by the way,” you said, opening the door and peaking around the corner, nodding at Alessia after. “Good night, Y/N,” she whispered. “Good night, marshmallow,” you whispered in return, to which she sent you a quick glare before quietly sprinting off to Lotte’s room.

What followed after was a restless night. A combination of all the events of the night and the alcohol still in your system left your mind a spinning mess. You eventually tired yourself out and fell asleep, but not before you noticed light starting to seep through your curtains.

When you woke up the next morning you felt exhausted and confused. At first, you thought last night might’ve just been a dream, but then you noticed one of your pillows was still on the floor, and you knew it had been real. You stumbled downstairs to be met with Alessia cooking breakfast in your kitchen. You wondered how she became such a good actress because the sight felt oddly familiar to you, like she did this for you every morning.

“Morning marshmallow,” you said, voice still raspy as you startled her out of her focused state. “Morning Y/N, how did you sleep?” She smiled, and you wondered why she didn’t fight the new nickname. “Hey, how come you get to call me Y/N?” You asked, crossing your arms. 

“So you didn’t sleep well, huh?” She looked up from the counter to meet your eyes, tone almost accusatory but her look rather soft. You had become quite good at changing the subject when you didn’t want to talk about something, yet somehow she had already figured you out. You tried to busy yourself with making coffee, but you soon felt a hand on yours, stopping you in your tracks. 

“How about you go take a shower? I’ve got this covered,” she said, hand not leaving yours before you set the pot back down. You wondered when her little touches had started to set your skin on fire yet make you shiver at the same time. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

After your shower, you made sure all doors were closed before you had your morning chat with yourself in the mirror. After all, Alessia apparently knew about your weird habit, and you could not afford having her listening in on this one. Today you were in for a stern talking to from yourself. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” You asked yourself, sending a harsh glare to your own reflection. 

“You can’t do this to yourself, and furthermore, you can’t do this to her. She is doing something really nice for you, and you can’t turn something you both agreed on was just pretend into something more. It’s not fair to her. You know she has a boyfriend. Frankly, Y/N Y/L/N, you’re being extremely inappropriate and it has to end now. Today, you behave yourself.”

As you walked back down the stairs, the smell of scrambled eggs and fresh coffee caught up with you, and you found your parents and Alessia sitting at the table with the delicious food in front of them. “Yesterday’s tiramisu and now this? She’s a keeper Y/N!”

The rest of the day went by swiftly as you gave your parents a tour of your neighbourhood and then some other parts of London, with a newfound determination to keep your walls up. ‘Friendly, but not too friendly’, is what you kept telling yourself as you interacted with Alessia throughout the day.

When she put her hand on the small of your back as you stood in line at a coffee shop, you thought about the moment before a corner kick in a football match, where your opponent would usually do the same thing. When you were sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench at the park, in your mind she was a tree you were leaning against. When that tree started to talk, you were inside a fairytale. One about friendship, and certainly without a princess. Whatever you had to tell yourself to make the bad thoughts disappear.

The four of you walked by the Thames, you showed your parents some of your favourite sights, and you walked around Covent Garden before settling down for a delicious lunch at your favourite café. After that you took them to the Museum of Natural History where you spent the majority of the afternoon. Everything went surprisingly well and your change of mindset seemed to work. When the sun started to set the four of you settled at one of your favourite restaurants around the city centre.

“Thank you for having us here, girls. I know you both live busy lives, so it’s really nice of you to spend all this time with us,” your mom said as you all waited for your dinner to arrive. “Of course!” Alessia answered with a genuine smile. “It’s been lovely meeting you, finally.” She quickly winked at you. “And you!” Your dad replied as your mom nodded along, both of them smiling broadly. 

“So, Alessia,” your mom started after a brief moment of silence. “I’m sure Y/N has mentioned this before, but Charlotte, her sister, is getting married next month.” You felt your temperature start to rise as she continued. “Now I know you’re a very busy person, so it’s totally fine if you can’t come on such short notice, but she did plan it after you two have a Friday match so Y/N could be there the rest of the weekend.”

You and Alessia shared a few glances in which you desperately tried to communicate she didn’t have to come. “So, Alessia, how would you like a little trip to Paris? All expenses paid off course.” Your mom and dad both looked at her expectantly, but before she could even open your mouth you interjected. 

“Invites went out months ago and we shouldn’t bother Charlotte by adding a plus one so last minute, don’t you think?” You asked, hoping this would solve the situation. 

“A plus one?” Your mom asked. “Don’t be ridiculous Y/N, she’s family now. Besides, I already asked your sister about it and she said she’d love it if Alessia would be there.”

You thanked your lucky stars as you noticed a waiter approach your table with several delicious looking dishes, interrupting the excruciating conversation before your mom could ask anymore questions. The food served as a perfect distraction as you all munched away and hums of enjoyment filled the air. 

You managed to keep up chit-chat about anything an everything but your sisters wedding until all four of you had finished your dinner and took the last sips of your wine. When your mom went to the toilet and your dad went to the counter to settle the bill, you finally had a moment alone with Alessia. 

“Less,” you started. “I’m so sorry about that. I promise you really don’t have to come to Paris. I will make up an excuse for you, don’t worry about it,” you blurted out. 

“Actually,” she started. “I thought it might be fun. Besides, what girlfriend would skip their partner’s sister’s wedding?” You took a moment to examine her expression to ensure she was being serious. “Really?” You asked. 

“Yeah, if you’d like that of course,” she stated, though it sounded more like a question. “Yeah, no, of course, let’s do it.” You smiled at her and she did the same as a brief but comfortable silence fell over both of you. 

“Hey, you finally called me Less!” She teasingly interrupted the moment. “Better get used to it, marshmallow.” You teased back, right before your parents returned and you both got up to leave the restaurant and head back home.

The next morning the four of you had one last breakfast together before your parents left. “So, girls. I don’t mean to rush you and there’s no pressure, but I did promise Charlotte I’d let her know as soon as possible if Alessia would join us in Paris.” Your mom spoke. You and Alessia shared a quick glance as if to check if you both still agreed on what you decided yesterday. “I would love to be there.” Alessia smiled at your mom. “Great, I’ll let her know!”

Once everyone had finished their breakfast you hugged your parents goodbye, Alessia doing the same, and they left. “Less,” you started as she smiled at you finally getting used to not using her full name. “I don’t know how to thank you for doing all this. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you admitted. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I had a great time.” She smiled sincerely. “Do you think it went well?” She asked and you glared at her in disbelieve. 

“Are you kidding me? You’re pretty much the ideal daughter in law. Polite, kind, funny, charming, beauti-” you stopped abruptly as you realised what you were about to blurt out. “-fully talented. You know, at football,” you tried to save yourself as you quickly busied yourself with gathering dishes.

“I best get going,” Alessia said as you looked up at her and noticed her cheeks having a light pink shade. “Yeah, of course.” You put down the plates and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you again, Less, so much.” The hug wasn’t as short as anticipated as you both held on just a bit longer than you would usually.

You belly flopped your tired body on the couch as soon as Alessia had closed the door behind herself. The weekend had gone infinitely better than expected. Your parents fell for your deceit and they loved your pretend girlfriend. You, however, almost seemed to fall for your own deception as well. Was it really just acting? Or did the line between pretence and reality blur somewhere? Surely it couldn’t. This was just your mind being inappropriate again.

Either way, just when you thought you had managed to get through the weekend, it turned out the adventure was not nearly over yet. There was much more to come. The city of love awaited you and your pretend girlfriend. You and your wonderful, sweet, beautiful pretend girlfriend that wasn’t actually yours.

-> Chapter III

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #engwnt x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc

[ladyloveandjustice]

Winter 2024 Anime Overview: Dungeon Meshi (Delicious in Dungeon)

Premise: Laios is the leader of an adventuring party, and his sister, Falin, got eaten by a dragon while sacrificing herself to save the team. Fortunately, in the dungeon they were exploring, people can be resurrected with magic. Unfortunately, if the dragon fully digests Falin, they probably can’t resurrect her. They have no time to resupply and must traverse many levels of the dungeon filled with monsters to find the dragon. Laios declares that since they can’t get food, they’ll eat the monsters in the dungeon instead-- and as a huge monster fanatic. he's unsettlingly excited about this. He’s accompanied by elf mage Marcille and hafling rogue Chilchuck in his quest, who are much more reluctant about monster-eating. They run into a dwarf, Senshi, who is an expert at cooking monsters, and the delicious race against time to save Falin begins!

...Oh what the hell, I'll say it. FINALLY, some good fucking food.

Memes aside, I love this story so much that writing a review of Delicious in Dungeon/Dungeon Meshi is daunting, because I really want to get across how great it is. But are there enough words in the English language to convey this? We can only try.

Dungeon Meshi combines cooking and adventure animanga expertly, humorously treating eating monsters with the complexity of actual recipes (and indeed, the recipes for the monsters are based off real life recipes). You can experience the warmth and contentment of sharing a meal and enjoy the way the story goes in depth about the biology of the monsters and ecology of classic RPG style dungeon. But at the same time these characters are on a classic fantasy quest and there’s lot’s of excitement as they work together overcome monsters, obstacles and their own weaknesses to save Falin.

The first thing that stands out about Dungeon Meshi is that it’s immediately entertaining and funny. A lot of humor is mined out of Marcille’s complete disgust at eating monsters (and Chilchuck’s more measured reluctance) contrasted with Laios and Senshi’s bizarre enthusiasm for it. The face game of the series is on point, especially Marcille’s.

The characters play off each other very well, have a hilarious dynamic and tons of quirks. They're immediately lovable. They're eccentric weirdos who push each other's buttons, misfits who just happen to fit together, and that's always the best.

I've seen some first time anime viewers complained about that how the early episodes are supposed to be race to save Falin, but there isn't much urgency as the characters have adventures and meals on the way. I can see that as a criticism (though it didn’t stick out to me much in the manga) but this is because we’re mostly seeing them in between the times they’re traveling, when they need downtime and mealtime. The fact that people should never neglect eating and rest if they want to succeed is a pretty important message of the show. You’ve got to let the series cook (forgive the pun). As it goes on, the urgency and tension increases ramps way up. the plot truly takes form and we see a lot of the world building from early parts pay off.

Phenomenal, intricate worldbuilding is the next big thing that stands out about Dunmeshi. Any viewers paying attention will notice it pretty quickly. Ryoko Kui doesn’t dump her complex world or her character’s detailed backstories on the viewer all at once, instead she lets it unfold bit by bit, so the viewer/reader can watch the world expand as the journey goes on, as if we are truly living this world and exploring it along with the characters.

 Everything is carefully thought out, from the structure of the societies, the cultural nuances and physiology of the different magical races, the conflicts between said races and the ways they integrate, the ecosystem and the different monsters and how they function…I could go on forever. And best of all, Dunmeshi's worldbuilding is never to the detriment of it’s incredibly rich story and characters, all of which are also developed wonderfully.

After all, Dugeon Meshi isn’t simply a story about making food and eating monsters—it’s about the ways we consume and ARE consumed, it’s about the endless cycle of life and death and the pain of struggling against that cycle. It’s about the endless hunger that drives us all and the ways we try to fill ourselves up. It’s about the ways we can find both solace and terror in the monstrous, about our struggle to accept not just monsters, but anyone who's different from us. It’s not just about natural ecosystems, but social and societal ecosystems and the ways they both hurt and help us. It’s about all the things that make good meal, one that can draw people together and help us find essential humanity that connects us.

These strong themes are all expressed through the world and the journeys of the characters. And god, do I love these characters.

Even from the start, the characters overturn RPG/fantasy archetypes. (We have an elf who’s not that into nature and dwarf who LOVES nature and doesn’t like blacksmithing)… but the most special thing about these characters is how they deepen, becoming more and more complex and fascinating as the series unfolds. None of them are quite who you think they are while also being exactly how they appear.

Marcille is one of my favorite characters in anything ever. She’s just an absolute disaster, while also being terrifyingly powerful. She’s a magic honors student who buried herself in theory but doesn’t have a lot of experience with the real world and gets upset it doesn’t work like school (I feel that). Her pride and generally high strung nature can lead to blunders that make her very funny to watch. She’s a total nerd in a way that’s so relatable, she has intelligence in spades, but not a lot of wisdom.

 But on the other hand, she’s an aching wounded soul who’s struggling under the surface, dealing with grief and loss constantly. She's obsessed with control in a world that uncontrollable. She’s incredibly driven and unnervingly dedicated to her goals. She’s also scarily devoted to the people she loves and will cross any moral line, break any taboo, and cover herself in blood and sin to save them. She refuses to let silly things like “laws” and “rules” stifle her research or get in her way .And while she's a neat freak who's grossed out by monsters, she's the first person to dive into the blood and guts and horror when shit gets real.

The contrast between her being a sweet, silly, dorky lovable nerd who flails around and being a powerful badass who has complex motivations, an intricate arc, and sometimes questionable morals is so great. Get you a girl who can do both. She's basically everything I love in a character.

Marcille’s love for Falin and infinite devotion is also key to the story, and it’s so refreshing to see a well-written relationship between women be so central to a fantasy anime like this. And yes, by love for Falin, I mean in a gay way. It’s not technically canon (Dunmeshi is not into confirming romantic relationships for any of it’s characters really) but it’s hard to interpret their relationship as anything else, and honestly it’s one of the best wlw ships I’ve seen in a while. It’s got everything, the softness, the sweet and sensual intimacy, the angst, the tragedy, the raw unbearable yearning, tearing the world apart and defying even the laws of nature for her, crawling through hell and soaking your hands in blood and not letting anything get in your way...yeah, it’s good.

While Marcille is my #1, all the characters in this story are fantastic and I love them all. They all have incredible depth and similarly complex backstories and arcs, and are all fun to watch. For instance, Laios may look like generic human fighter but he’s just the weirdest dude, a wonderfully unhinged man who absolutely has a monstersona. But then we also discover he's someone who struggles socially in a way that many neurodivergent people can relate to, who had a troubled childhood, who grapples with survivor’s guilt, and who, like Marcille, would do anything for his sister and the people he cares about. Chilchuck and Senshi and Falin and all the others the same, really interesting characters who deepen and grow. Everyone's relationships also develop wonderfully.

And on top of all that, it's a show with really well-realized and well-written female characters…who even have diverse body types! We have stocky dwarf ladies with muscles! Huge orc and oni women! They’re allowed to be messy and complicated, badass and vulnerable, and that’s definitely a part of my affection for the series. (and famously, most of the fanservice of the series is focused on Senshi’s endless pant shots (loincloth, if we’re being specific)) and while there are moments with the female characters that make me fan myself, it’s not the obnoxious anime unsexy bullshit way that treats women like objects.

And specifically for the anime, Trigger is doing great work with it. There’s so much cool and vivid animation. There are some small moments from the manga that I really miss and wish they had kept, but it’s been a largely faithful adaptation that understands what makes the story great, and I can’t ask for much more. The English simuldub is also genuinely good with all of the VA’s turning in great performances (and Prozd plays Senshi!)

Dungeon Meshi is honestly one to the best stories in recent years, and it’s easy to let it take over your brain. So come along with me and enjoy the funny jokes, the splendid storytelling, the endearing and endlessly fascinating characters and the delectable world. You don’t want to miss out on this delicious meal.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #anime overview #winter 2024 anime #marcille #marcille donato #laios touden #falin touden #anime #ryoko kui

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 10: Birth

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. You meet your twins.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to the awesome @hotdapologist​​ for editing this monster! Thank you also to @angelqueen04​​​, @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, graphic childbirth/difficult birth.

Daemon ought to be rewarded for his self-restraint.

When he’d overheard your warbling confession to Rhaenyra, his first impulse had been to leap atop Caraxes and make the return journey to that shithole he’d only just left behind, to storm into his brother’s Keep and run his whore of a wife through with Dark Sister, to hunt down any and every rotten cunt who had dared involve themselves in this unspeakable transgression against you. Against him.

Moon tea. Moon tea. You had been drinking moon tea all along, dosed without realising by that evil bitch and her cronies.

He knows rage. It is his very best ally—has been since before he grasped the words to describe what lay black and beating like a stone drum in his soul. This rage, the one he has carried about since the awful truth reached his ears, is not the sparking fire that imperils all that surrounds it. He recognises that feeling well. This rage, this throbbing, squalling echo, is a pain in the chest, a stab to the heart, one that pulses and bleeds rather than ignites and incites.

You tried your best to assuage him. He cannot help but admire how unaffected you had been by his roaring madness as he’d stormed into the room, angry enough to daunt even Rhaenyra. But there are no assurances you could make—no promises of the comeuppance that awaits the Queen in the far-off future—that can satiate the stinging need to tear flesh from flesh, take a life for every one that you and he had been robbed of.

He had indeed attempted to mount his dragon, getting so far as the split in the path that takes one around the perimeter of the Dragonmont before being stopped by Ser Lorent Marbrand and whichever unfortunate bastards had been collected for the task. Six or seven sentries had milled about nervously as the knight delivered your command, blasted impudent girl forbidding him from what is his right and keeping him grounded upon the isle. He did not wish to chance the odds of a skirmish against those gathered, nor your wrath, so he’d abandoned the notion and stomped off to walk the beaches until he was calm. Though he had spoken with you later in the afternoon and indulged in a rather enjoyable romp in the bath, the thoughts of what he had learned refuse to leave him be.

Moon tea. How many babes, fruit of the seed he’d fucked into you with utmost dedication and unrelenting regularity, had been swilled away by that damned concoction? Had they existed at all, or did the tea perform its task so efficiently that they never even had a chance? The unknowns spiral relentlessly in his mind.

He’ll not plague you with them, though. You have enough to contend with.

“Soon,” the healer woman keeps advising him, eyes turned to you as you wince and cup your belly, impossibly great and heavy. “They come soon. Any day.”

So large have his heirs become that you now refuse to leave your shared chambers, waddling about in naught but one of those sheer shifts that make him ache with the desire to touch, only to be rebuffed by the very knowledge that you are far too uncomfortable for such things.

Damn it all.

You wear no smallclothes, complaining that they fit poorly and rub against your belly. No, it’s nothing but those fucking nightgowns, baring everything and nothing at the same time and driving him mad.

Truthfully, he is somewhat surprised you still deign to wear anything. Even the shifts are too much for your sensitive skin in this final waiting stage, and he often finds you cringing at the brush of fabric over your tits.

On occasion, you sit upon the chaise with the hearth lit and one of his thick woollen coats to lay over your feet while you read or re-read your books, resting the heft of them on the protruding mound of your middle in a manner that is far more comical than it ought to be. On others, you recline on the bed with your swelling feet propped up and a miniature gown or sock or cap in your hands, stitching long-necked crimson dragons or black-and-green snarling wyverns or brilliant golden beasts across the fabric. Most often, you toddle about very carefully through your rooms, fussing with the items in or around the sizeable cradle you had insisted belonged here rather than in the nursery.

“I do not want them so far from us, Daemon,” you say, folding then refolding yet another blanket lovingly embroidered for the babes, examining it consideringly before placing it in its particular spot. Your face glows with delight as you take in the results of your reorganisation, soft toys and snug coverings and stacks of clothing arranged in peculiar collections across the corner of the room closest to your bed. “They belong here, where we can see them, where they are safe—”

“Sh, sh.”

He watches avidly as you move about with one little hand cupping your immensely distended belly while the other arranges and rearranges items into a configuration only you can envision. As you work, his eyes devour the lush curves of your body.

“Lovely, sweetling,” he says when you step back to present your handiwork.

“Do you think they will like it?” you ask, mouth twisted to the side with uncertainty, rubbing at your middle while you ponder and ponder over your efforts.

He doesn’t believe the babes will care either way, to be perfectly honest. All they’ll do in the beginning is eat and shit and cry, for fuck’s sake. But instead of voicing this, he merely smiles and says, 

“Of course they will. They’re their father’s daughters, after all.”

Your eyes flash impishly. “And my sons’ father really likes it?”

He nods, striding over to peer down at the nest you had made for your little dragons and kiss you soundly on your petulant cherry-blossom mouth, silencing your hesitation once and for all.

In the mornings, you accept visitors. Your apartments become a revolving door of attendees from across the Keep, everyone from Rhaenyra with Joff and Corwyn in tow to Ser Lysan helped along by Laenor stopping by to keep you company in your self-imposed confinement. It is in this time that Daemon is free to leave you to conduct his own tasks, secure in the knowledge that you are safe and chatting away about your studies with your tutor, huddled up with Jace, Luke and Daeron, or braiding Rhaena and Baela’s hair.

In the afternoons, you like to sit in his lap, rounded arse wedged firmly into the parting of his thighs. You are always clasping the babes through your belly with a hand as you nibble at candied figs and honey cake steeped in warm milk.

“I hope at least one of them looks like you,” you say, lips sticky with sugar smacking with the sound of each word. Trailing an unsoiled finger down the length of his nose, you admire his profile and the cut of his jaw. “Your chin, mayhaps, or your brow. I think they would be most handsome with your features.”

Your cheek nuzzles against his, pampered little pet seeking affection, and his mouth curves unbidden at the pretty praise, earnest and charming.

“They’ll be beautiful.” There is an image in his head of two darling little girls with wispy silver hair and your eyes and lips, perhaps a gentler replica of his nose framing the parts of them that come from you. “Like their mother.”

He holds very still as you beam and take his face between tacky fingers to press your mouth against his, hot and wet and syrupy-soft. It takes what little remains of his willpower to conjure up a rotation of the most heinous scenarios he can conceive of—old Otto in an ornate gown with shoulders bared, Viserys’s deformed, mottled flesh-prison, Hightower blood seated upon the throne of his ancestors—to prevent his cock from stirring beneath you.

You cannot bear for him to fuck you as of late. The walls of your cunt are thin and sore, the pinprick opening of your womb low and tender while your body prepares itself for birth. Daemon knows you would endure the imposition if he pressed, but even he is not so monstrous that he’d disregard the sight of his little wife wincing and holding back tears as he worked himself into a space too burdened to accept him with pleasure.

The perverse delight he usually feels in eliciting such reactions from you falls away at the vision you make under his watchful gaze, generous swathes of supple skin swelling almost to breaking point. You are forced to bloom because of him, glowing from within and easily surpassing any effigy of the Mother. He scoffs at the thought of any person possibly comparing you to such a paltry idol. Being so beholden to the whims of his heirs in your belly, you are the very dichotomy of indomitable and fragile, the inexplicable marvel of creating life from vacuity swallowed by the delicate softness of one far too vulnerable for a rough hand.

No, he refuses to inflict his lusts on you in your state—but that doesn’t mean he is bereft altogether.

You love for him to lick you in the evenings before slumber and in the early hours when you wake, lavishing laps through the split of you that paint slick and saliva in shades of shine. He toils away the hours with his head between your thighs, luring peak after peak from perennially puffed folds in recompense for how good you are being for him, how brave, laving at your cloying wetness to make you claw and twist at his mane.

Afterward, you summon him up with little tap-taps on your firm, rounded belly, gentle bleats of “Come here, kepus,” so that he’ll prop himself over you and withdraw his cock from his breeches. He strokes himself to completion like that, allowing you to search out the taste of yourself in his mouth as your fingertips dance over the head of his shaft, quick panting breaths while he growls and wrings himself dry. You twist contentedly in the warmth of the sheets, rubbing his spend into the flesh of your middle like a brand marking his ownership from inside out.

Later, you entice him under the covers with you, prodding him through the process of shucking off layers of clothing so that you can pet and kiss him and stroke little hands across his arms and legs and chest. You shuffle laboriously to your side between his legs, head nestled on his thigh so that you can suckle indolently at his shaft. It is self-soothing more than anything, a nursling calming herself to sleep with a rhythmic pull and release, pull and release. He cards through your hair as you work. When his fingers catch tangles, you emit a sound and vibration that speeds him to a torturous end, stones drained of seed and body aching with the unfulfilled desire to exert his physicality against yours.

Everything fades away—the grief and madness and anger surrounding the attempt on your life, the folly of his brother, the transgressions of the Hightower bitch—dimming in a thick haze of primitive urge and heady anticipation.

When you make Ser Lorent bar the door and demand Daemon remain by your side, refusing to listen to the many reasons why he cannot, in fact, lounge about with you all day, he realises how very near your time is.

“No!” you say sharply, hair fizzing and cheeks flushed and belly swaying as you push at his chest, a futile attempt at blocking his path if there ever was one. “Go back to bed, now.”

“Talītsos.” Holding firm to your hands despite your resistance, he smiles at your fussy huffing and sullen glare. He gathers you in his arms, smoothing his palm down your spine, inhaling the scent of you—honey and rose and milk, sweet, sweet, sweet—as you burrow into him. “I have men to train. Nephews to teach. Duties to fulfil.”

“No.” You whimper, cleaving to his frame like he is set to disappear if you should let go. 

“Please stay with me? Please? ‘M frightened, I feel strange, I want you here, it’s too much—”

He cannot help but revel in your neediness, putting on the face of one who is reluctantly capitulant so that you’ll draw him back and strip him down and reward him with sweet kisses until, finally, you fall asleep cuddled into him, arms and legs trapping him to you with all the might you possess.

As the days roll by, you grow even more whinging and restive, wanting his finger to breach you to the first knuckle while you rock your pearl into his thumb, tongue twining with his as you wiggle to completion over and over again. You peck at fruit slices and venison smeared with jam and clotted cream—a bizarre combination, but how can he deride it when you are so delighted?—and onion soup thickened by the Vale’s sharpest goat’s cheese. Your skin grows hot like fire, and you take cool baths so often that you seem perpetually pruned, staring hood-eyed into the distance, trancelike.

He knows you are close. So too does the healer.

Her preparations have settled into the periphery of his routine, and his chambers have become the setting in which great overhaul has occurred. From motley instruments packed and stacked neatly to bowls and sheets and towels and a birthing stool, a whole host of equipment is collected in the corners of the room, ready to be brought out at the pivotal moment.

“Hm,” Ūlla says, frowning, hands pressing in increments along your middle. “Hm.”

“What?” he asks, knotted with tension and about ready to jump from his skin. You are silent, brows wrinkled and bottom lip jutting out, darting glances between him and the woman.

“Feel—” She directs him by the wrist to the top of your belly, digging into the solid mass of you, and below that, the unyielding rigidity of a diminutive skull. His child. “One not turned. Should face down, like other one.”

“Breech?” You tremble, face ashen. “One is breech?”

Fuck. Fuck. He’s heard the stories. The maesters have little success in bringing out babes that lay in the wrong position inside the womb, this he knows. If their meagre efforts to rotate the child fail, then the blade is used to tear apart the mother, assuredly killing her and only sometimes saving the infant. It is why his great-grandmother Alyssa perished. It is why his cousin Aemma perished.

It may be why you will perish.

“How was this not caught earlier?” He must force back the wild urge to backhand her, to steal you away and run, run so fast that time slides into reverse and he can undo the terrible, terrible mistake of getting you with child in the first place. “How were you not aware of this?”

“Daemon,” you whisper, clutching onto his arm. He strokes his palm across your cheek, holding you firm by the jaw, desperate.

“Both facing down last time I check, boy.” She doles out an unimpressed look his way, lip curled lightly in a sneer. Gentling her expression, she turns to you, nudging him out of the way with her hip—the fucking nerve—and taking your hands in hers. “Do not worry yet, Princess,” she says soothingly. “Very common. Babe might turn again before birth, or turn during birth. If not, I will fix. Do not be afraid, yes?”

He is caught between warring desires—to know exactly how she proposes to ‘fix’ this, to keep quiet and force all unease so far down that he no longer feels it, to slip away and climb atop Caraxes and release his terror to the wind. You make the choice for him, letting the matter lie with an unsteady nod of the head and an implicit dismissal toward the healer. He comes to lie beside you.

“You cannot leave me,” you tell him seriously, eyes wide and shining. “Not—not when it happens. You have to stay here. You promised.”

“I did.” Bearing down on the terror and kissing your hand, he scores the vow beneath your skin with his lips. “And it is a promise I intend to keep.”

Your pains begin at night. He wakes to the sound of your hissing voice in the dark, fingers digging into his arm and shaking, frenzied.

“Daemon. Daemon!”

“What?” His mind is slow and his mouth is dry and sour. He squints up, trying to discern the shape of you in so much black space, but all he can see is a vague silhouette backlit by the weak glow of the moon from the balcony.

“I—I think the babes are coming.”

At that, he startles to full consciousness. “What?” he asks, strident, feeling for your form. His hand catches on the mound of your belly, hard like stone, none of the give of flesh and blood.

“The babes are coming.” Your cadence is firm, surprisingly measured, and the words are enough to vault him from the bed and wrench the door open to bark orders at Marbrand. The urgency lifts the man from his own standing half-stupor. He takes off running, and Daemon steels himself for what is to come.

Soon enough, the hearth is lit, the candles are flickering, the midwives are bustling, and he can see you grimacing, hand clawed into the sheets as your womb clenches through the wave. He dimly senses the arrival of others, new voices added to the mix of low tones dispersed around the room, but you are all he cares for.

The sound of loud retching shakes him from his inertia. You hunch over the basin beside you, expelling the contents of your stomach—which he had been assured is a normal sign, that it indicates ‘things are progressing well’, whatever the fuck that means—and convulsing periodically.

He is down on his knees before you in a heartbeat. “What do you need?”

Your toes dig into the mattress and you gasp, wilting back into the pillows propping you up, and he can do nothing but watch. Even after a few beats of silence have passed, you do not acknowledge him. He tries again, calling your name.

Your lashes flutter, wet, and your gaze lifts to his. “I want to get up,” you say, coughing past the remnants of bile. A midwife deftly leans in and plucks the basin from the bed to carry it away. You struggle to sit upright. “I want—I want to walk.” You inhale sharply. “I need to walk.”

There is something strange and ominous about the way you speak. Fear wrings his heart. Please. Please let her survive this. He casts the plea wide, not quite a prayer, though he thinks he would be willing to kneel before any gods who might sustain you through this ordeal.

Daemon is already banding his arm behind your back by the time he is fully cognisant of your wish, supporting you as you squirm along the bed to the side of the frame. When he hoists you up by your forearms, you stumble and sway, blinking, mouth falling slack.

“Sit back down,” he says. You shake your head, leaning into his body and breathing, slow, deep exhales that abate once you get your bearings. “Listen to me. Sit.”

“No, Uncle. I need this.” You grasp onto him and take two or three shaky steps, quivering like a lamb new to the world, and he wraps his arm around your waist.

The pace is slow and disjointed as you move toward the balcony, then to the hearth in an aimless trajectory. It allows him to see the outline of your belly through your shift, less rounded and more slanted. When he cups the swell, he can feel how pronounced it has become at the base, how heavy and low it is. You bow into yourself when another wave hits, grunting as your fingertips hook into the meat of his flesh and your middle turns rigid under his touch. All he can do is remain solid while you rest your weight into him, murmuring meaningless nonsense under his breath and waving the midwives away impatiently.

You don’t need them. He is here.

“How long?” The healer bustles into his line of sight, scarcely a word of acknowledgement offered before she places hands over your belly to feel the changes for herself. Fucking shrew. He cannot help but be desperately grateful she is here. She snaps her fingers at him, brow quirked. “Well, boy? How long?”

“How long what?” he snarls back. “I’d answer if I knew what you were fucking talking about—”

“The pains woke me up,” you say through gritted teeth, staring through bleary eyes at the woman. You sag into him then, grip relaxing while you breathe a sigh of relief. “I do not know when they started.”

“Hm.” She nods, peering at the bed before looking back to you, ignoring him entirely. “No fluid yet?” She gestures to your nethers, making her meaning clear.

“No,” you say. Then, your face twists oddly and you glance down, pensive. You peer fleetingly at him, biting your lip and wrinkling your brow. “But—I kept… leaking… earlier. Before I went to sleep. I thought it was strange because I did not feel the need to make water.”

Daemon remembers that. He’d had to assist you from the bed to the privy numerous times, endure your frustrated tears as you’d changed your nightgown then been made to change it again after you wet yet another one, coddle and cosset you back to a state resembling calm. To think it might have been a sign—

You hesitate. “Could—could that have been—”

Ūlla smiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Gerardys enter the room and make his way to the table of instruments. What the fuck is he doing here?

There is a reason he’d sought out another to take care of you during your labours. He has no intention of allowing the Citadel to get their grasping hands on you or the babes, no matter how amiable the man may be.

“Ah, very good,” The healer nods far more vigorously than before. She is squinting at him suspiciously, the old shrew. “Yes, yes, sometime it happen that way.” With a wave of her hand, she beckons over one of the nervously idling attendants and wordlessly points to the bed. “You go lie down,” she tells you, the midwife moving to your free side, “and I will feel how far you come.”

He wants to protest when the girl begins to tug you gently from his hold, leading you back toward the bed, but the maester is headed his way. He does not wish for you to hear him speak unkindly to a man you view as an ally.

“Why are you here?” he asks—quite rudely, at that—before the physician can greet him with a friendly smile and even cadence. The sight of his robes makes Daemon feel ill. He cannot separate this man from the memories, the knowledge that too many women in his family had died under the care of the Order, succumbing to the perils of childbed with nary a herb or poultice to halt the descent. “We didn’t send for you.”

Gerardys shifts uneasily. “The Lady Ūlla requested my presence, your Highness.”

Daemon glowers at her. “You requested his presence?”

Ūlla rolls her eyes. “He know how to heal,” she says slowly, as though he is simple-minded. The fucking audacity. “I will help Princess, and he will help twin. Two head better than one, yes? Even though he maester.” She practically spits the word out.

“What high praise, my Lady,”

“Not praise for you,” she mutters. “Do not kill anyone here, maybe I think better after this.”

“I do suppose we shall see.”

“If you could both cease bandying about the possibility of my wife’s death in your quarrel…” Daemon is certain that the gravel in his tone and the scowl on his face is threat enough. Saying the words aloud leaves him momentarily winded, robbed of breath in the face of such a possibility.

Please. Please.

“My apologies, Prince Daemon,” Gerardys says, head bobbing brusquely before moving away to tend to the supplies being unpacked by the midwives.

The healer has no such contrition, smacking him across the arm. The fucking impudence of this woman, by the gods. “Pah! Stop panicking. You stress her. Bad for her and babe.”

With that, she bumbles off to the bed where you sit half-reclined, curled on your side and grunting. One of the attendants dabs at your forehead and temple with a wet rag, tracks of sheen sliding down your skin that is either water or sweat. He cannot tell.

Daemon settles gingerly behind you and reaches out to touch your side, your belly a rock beneath his palm. A low, rattling moan preludes the release of tension, your entire body loose as the tightening dissipates.

“Good girl,” he says, adrift and helpless. What can he do? He cannot shoulder this burden for you.

You turn over, heaving with the effort, all but collapsing into the bedding when you are finally facing him. “It hurts.” Tears begin to track down your flushed, pretty cheeks, pain and pleasure so intertwined that the sight sends a confusing bolt of terror-want pulsing through his extremities. “Kepus—”

“I know.” He sweeps the hair back from your face. “You’re alright.” Perhaps if he says it enough, it will bleed into reality. He directs his next words to Ūlla, who has climbed onto the foot of the bed and situated herself between your legs, propping one up to feel inside you. “Get her something for the pain, will you!”

“Wait, wait.” Her brows furrow in concentration. You emit a soft noise of discomfort, nose scrunching, and the healer clucks. “Over half-way, Princess! Very good!”

She withdraws, wiping her hand on her skirt. Her fingers leave bloodstains over the fabric. Is that normal? he wonders, heart racing.

“How long you been feeling pain, Princess? Pain that continue?” The healer gestures in a vague circle around her middle, extending behind.

“My… back has been aching for nearly two days now,” you say, eyes growing wide. “I thought it was normal. It felt much like it has in recent weeks, anyway—”

“Hm. Early labour.” She drags herself from the mattress, tinkering about with glass vials on the table beside the bed. “Not strange to not know, first time. You rest for much of it. Lucky you! Some wait left, yet.”

You groan frustratedly at the announcement, head flopping onto his arm. Your skin is unbearably warm against his chest, even through the thin layer of his nightshirt.

The woman holds out a cup, filled part-way with a familiar milky liquid. “Milk of poppy and water elder,” she explains at his confuddled expression. “Small dose, very safe—help the pain.”

He cradles you with one arm while the other holds the cup to your lips, tipping the concoction slowly into your mouth. You shudder, whether at the flavour or the coolness, and when you are finished you fall into an uneasy doze.

What follows is minutes or hours or days of the same. Time is meaningless, an endless cycle of watching as you toss from side to side, knees pulled up and locked in position while you pant and groan, loosening when it passes, devoid of everything but this. You are consumed by it, lost to the elemental force of your own body’s innate undertaking, a creature beyond his understanding.

He is immensely proud. He is deathly afraid. There is not a place you could go to that he couldn’t follow until now.

A woman’s battlefield is the childbed. Daemon had thought it a trite saying before, but it’s proven here in the way that your face twists with the growing hurt, sheened with sweat and glowing like fire. He sees it in the way you ride through the agony, and surely there’s never been torture quite so harrowing as this, enough to make one vomit and shake with fever so vehement that you will surely crumble to ash in the heat of it, but no, you refuse to let it. You keen and whimper, but you do not break. Not you. Not his brave, sweet girl. He sees it in the silence, in the lulls between the storm, the way you focus inward and find refuge within your mind, steeling yourself for the next surge and the next and the next.

A weak light begins to filter in from the balcony, signalling the arrival of dawn. Your cries reach a new height, grating, primal, heralding a change he is not ready for, not yet. “It burns,” you say between bursts of uneven breath, startling him, suddenly struggling upright after so long spent recumbent. “Daemon—it—”

“Paghās, riñītsos.” Breathe, he says, bracing behind you so that you do not fall. Keep breathing and do not stop, he wills, stomach curdling sour and vision spotting.

The healer stands, solemn, midwives and maester already moving around her. “It is time, Princess. Do you want to go to the stool, or—”

“No!” You sob, twisting, wresting yourself onto your hands and knees before him. Hands slipping over his shirt, you grab for his neck and hold tight. “No, I can’t get up, it burns—”

“Push, your Highness!” one of the midwives says, and she is too close, too close, hand on your back and touching what isn’t hers to touch, but there is no recourse. You and he are awash in the sound of the word, “Push!” said over and over again in chorus. “Push!”

You strain, face puffing and distorting as you shriek, so loud that his ears ring and his head throbs, and your fingers are claws in his skin, digging, digging. He strokes over your back, over your sides, the fabric of your shift wet with the salty, earthy scent of warm fluids and sweat, clogging the air around him.

His gut writhes and his heart pounds and, beyond, a terrible hope wells like the glow before a sunrise, blooming gold across dark skies. “It’s coming, sweetling,” he whispers into your temple, or perhaps he laughs it, exhilarated, disbelieving. “You’re so close, you’re almost there.”

“Push, Princess!”

“Push, your Highness!”

You snarl between gritted teeth, perspiration winding rivulets down your face to traverse the valley of your breasts, disappearing below your gown. Daemon watches, overcome, the world fading from view as awe chokes in his throat and in his lungs.

She is magnificent.

“I see the babe!”

“I cannot do it!” You weep, snivelling into his chest as you collapse forward. He is reminded of the time you had thrown your book of Valyrian tales as a small girl, cheeks streaked with tears after too long spent tripping over the words in his mother tongue, a rare instance of stubbornness as you’d stamped your foot and yelled that very same thing. “It’s too much—I cannot—”

“Yes, you can,” he says, firm, forehead pressing to yours. Cupping your jaw with his hands, he tugs your line of sight up, waiting for you to meet his eyes. “You’re nearly there, my girl.” Your molten stare shifts from fearful mistrust to reluctant resolve, bolstered by his encouragement. “You can do this.”

You nod, frantic and afraid and confident, if not in yourself then in him, and he will lead you to this finish, he swears. “I can do this… I can do this…”

“Another push, Princess!”

“Again, your Highness!”

“You can,” he repeats, smiling, all teeth, gleaming and savage. “You’re strong, so very strong.”

His gaze bears into your lids as they flutter closed and crinkle. When you howl, belly rippling and body shaking, he thinks he can hear your dragon howl with you, screeching upon the wind, chilling.

“Good, Princess! Almost!”

Your head falls back, slick strands of silver hair slipping from your shoulders as more tears leak from your eyes. You shake, pink tongue showing, and the noise you emit is beyond hearing, beyond knowing.

It stops.

A babe wails.

You sob hysterically, just barely turning over before you crumple against him, arms already reaching out to the healer, the woman who cups his child in her wizened hands. “Well done, Princess!” she says.

“A son, your Highness!” Gerardys beams, peering over her shoulder. “A boy!”

A son. An heir.

The babe slots into the cradle of your arms like he was born for it, and of course he was. He is small, dusky and soft, shrivelled and squalling like the greatest of indignities has been visited upon him. Atop his head, a cap of bloody, matted silver-white hair, your hair, his hair.

My son.

“My boy.” Trembling and panting in short, jerky bursts, your fingertips judder delicately along the tiny swollen belly of your child. “I love him. I love him so much.”

His heart stops fully and restarts, a second birth, tears of his own welling and falling as he takes his first look upon the face of his babe. His son.

“He is perfection,” he murmurs, arms around you, palm coming to rest upon the head of his firstborn. He is ours.

As exhausted as you are, it is not over.

It is as though time stops and speeds by all at once, sitting with you and the babe. Slowly, his petal-soft skin shifts from purplish to pink, rosy against your own flesh. He is quieter now, emitting little grunts and gurgles, each sound drawing forth a hitch in your breath or a surprised huff of laughter. Beneath the gore and odd waxy coating is the promise of your features, from the shape of the eyes to the tilt of the rosebud mouth.

He looks so very like she did at this age, Daemon thinks wondrously, feeling the miraculous thud of a miniature heart beneath paper-thin ribs.

You whine tearily when a midwife steps forth to take his son from your arms, carrying him to the maester to be cleaned and assessed. Daemon hushes you, rocking lightly from side to side, and he thinks he’s repeating, “You did it, sweetling, you did it!” but he cannot be sure over the roaring in his ears.

The healer and the maester are conversing in low tones, the occasional heated syllable wafting from the corner to which they’ve withdrawn, but he cares little.

That is my boy over there, his mind echoes. My babe. My son. He had never seriously contemplated the likelihood of a male heir. It is not for the second son of a second son to hope for such a thing. And yet, you have done it.

“Move, boy!” Ūlla says then, urgent, shoving Daemon out from under you with all the haste of one in a desperate rush. You fall flat onto the mattress, hand flying out to grasp his with a soft yelp. The healer tugs up your shift, baring you to the room. “Any new pains, Princess?” she asks brusquely, pressing hard on your belly. You hiss, shaking your head and wriggling as if to dislodge her, but she will not be dissuaded from her course. She mutters a curse in some unknown tongue. “Babe still in breech.”

It is not over. He had nearly forgotten in the wash of activity and sound and emotion. Fuck. “What is to be done?” he asks, staring down at you.

With hair impossibly frizzed and skin slick and shining, the happiness in the creases by your eyes as you smile at your babe is a sight to behold. You don’t seem to notice anything but the infant across the room, and certainly have no part in the current conversation. The boy hasn’t even been alive an hour yet and he’s already stolen you from him. Daemon cannot find it in himself to mind.

“I try to turn babe,” the healer says gravely, hesitating. He tracks the anxious flap of her arms. “It… will hurt her. Might not work. But—breech too dangerous not to try.”

He swallows back the sickening sensation of dread, that pool of acridity that sits in the back of his throat as the words settle in his mind. He can hear the unasked question. To be made the beneficiary of such a choice… It is the stuff of nightmares. Your nightmares.

She is not yet beyond reach.

Daemon calls your name once, twice, three times. Finally, you take notice of him, blinking slow and befuddled at the interruption of your silent watchfulness. He squeezes your hand.

“They have to try and turn the other babe,” he says carefully. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what else to do. There’s nothing. He’s never felt so fucking powerless, and he despises it. “I’ll be here the entire time.” It feels hollow as soon as he speaks it into reality.

As he is shunted off the bed, his gut knots up tight at the fear that overtakes your expression. Your wearied form shifts half-heartedly in his direction until his vision is blocked by the midwives crowding you to assist in the procedure. He braces himself for the ensuing moments, fingers balling into fists as he stands by helplessly.

You scream.

Get out, he thinks wildly at the child inside you, entire body jerking with the urge to dart forward and throw these people off you. Get the fuck out, get out—

“Daemon!” You bawl, hiccoughing from the force of it, and it hasn’t even been that long but it’s enough.

“Stop!” Jostling the attendants out of the way and flinging the woman’s hands off you, he makes good on his wish, snatching your upper body in his arms and clutching you to his chest as you sob into his shirt. “Find some other way, because that’s not happening again!”

Her jaw clicks as she grinds her teeth—but, instead of responding with something rude or inflammatory, she offers naught but a curt nod. “Babe too low for turning, anyway,” she mutters in lieu of an apology, patting your leg sympathetically.

“What does that mean?” you ask between shuddering breaths, cowed and uneasy.

“If it progresses, your Highness,” Gerardys tentatively says, “we may have to—lay open the womb to retrieve the child—”

“No.” Your face grows wan, drawn with horror. “No, no, no no no no—”

Daemon snarls so viciously that the maester takes a step back, drawing the bundle in his arms closer to him. “Shut the fuck up. If you even think about bringing one of your fucking blades anywhere near my wife, I’ll slice you clean in two—”

“I said before, nobody using anything sharp,” Ūlla says, drowning out the sound of you expelling what little remains in your stomach over the side of the bed, splashing on his shoe. He grimaces in distaste. “I check, anyway. Babe has both leg up, good for breech birth. We use stool. May work.”

“My Lady,” Gerardys says, “we’ve discussed this! Breech babes rarely ever exit the womb naturally—”

“This one twin, stupid.” She sneers. “Womb already open. Stool will let babe move down itself. Good idea.”

“You will not be able to see the movements of the canal in such a position—”

“There will be no movement if she lay flat, stupid man! Sit on stool is best.”

“Will you both stop fucking arguing—”

“What in the Seven hells is going on here?”

Rhaenyra’s appearance coincides with a loud slamming of the door, frightening the squabbling pair into muteness. Her hair is mussed and she is adorned in a dressing gown and slippers, looking for all the world as though she has thrown on the nearest coverings and rushed to your rooms. Shock parts her mouth as she takes in the scene. “My sister’s in—and one of the babes is—and you didn’t think to wake me?”

“Rhaenyra.” Your breath hitches, lower lip quivering.

The sound of your cries spurs her into action. She all but flies across the room, crawling onto the bed on your other side so that she can take your hand and kiss your crown, releasing meaningless noises at a low, steady cadence, hushing you into a somewhat composed state.

“The second babe,” you say, “it—it’s stuck.”

“You’re going to be just fine, darling.” Smoothing your hair behind your shoulder, she turns to the general assemblage of attendants. “And? What is to be done about it?”

When the maester opens his mouth again, Daemon stares daggers at him. “If you value your tongue, you’ll keep quiet.”

Ūlla ignores the outburst entirely. “Give,” she says, already moving to take his boy—his son—from the physician. Leaning forward, she tugs the ties of your shift loose and pushes the fabric to the side to bare your breast.

You squawk, abruptly falling quiet when the babe is placed on your chest. Daemon watches, rapt, as his son whines, head twisting and little lips closing over your nipple, unerringly seeking out the sustenance you have made for him.

“Oh!” You gasp, not quite a sound of pain, peering down with startlement as the boy’s suckles deepen, small fist flexing and unflexing against your skin.

“Good boy,” the healer murmurs, straightening up with a suspicious shine in her eye. He knew she fucking cared. She clears her throat. “It has been longer than I like. Feeding should begin pain again. Princess must walk to drop babe down, and then to stool. We deliver breech… and pray.”

He sees the expression on her face and turns away. He cannot—will not—allow himself to indulge in thoughts of doom.

“He is lovely,” Rhaenyra whispers as she examines him from beside you. You beam.

When the boy stills, one of the midwives unlatches him from you, conveying him small and sleeping to the cradle. Eyes welling with tears, a new resolve sets the line of your jaw as you retie the fastenings of your shift and lean on him to pull yourself upright.

Then, you cry out. He looks down. His stomach turns at the sight of the spiralled cord drawn and lodged firmly under your knee, disappearing inside you.

By the gods, he thinks with a fresh sense of horror, the deed hasn’t even been done to completion and she’s being forced up.

“Careful!” the woman says, frantic, dragging you to stand upon the stone floor. “You must walk, Princess. Bring babe down.”

You sag. Daemon has no choice but to take you under the arm to keep your legs under you. Rhaenyra takes your other side, lips pressed together to maintain composure. He wonders if she’s as caught in the growing sense of wrongness as he is.

“Help me,” you mumble, taking wobbly steps that rely more on the shared weight of your supporters than your own. “Walk with me—”

Your face contorts in a rictus of discomfort, but still you persist, stumbling doggedly on feet ill-prepared for the task of movement. He and his elder niece do as best as possible to prop you up, offering what paltry praise can be given in such a case as this. Daemon cannot help but consider the scene as it must look to an outsider. A girl being hauled about half-conscious, sweating and bloodied with viscera swinging between her legs. A bizarre, sickening spectacle. It’s fucking cruelty.

Then, you stop, lips parting in a silent plea. His blood chills in his veins at the ripple along the flesh of your belly, the sure tightening that precedes fresh danger. Your hands flutter toward your middle, or perhaps to the gaping wound that his children have scored open, his seed, his fault—

“Take her to stool. Now!” Ūlla says, snapping her fingers and gesturing to spur the attendants to action. “More cloth! More water!”

Daemon directs you to the chair, almost carrying you bodily. Such is the limpness of your frame against his that he fears this next enterprise will unmake you. Rhaenyra tugs up your night-rail as he lowers you down, twisting the drape of it and tucking it below your thigh. You loll, moaning, wordless, and he crowds up behind you to hold you firm.

“Sit up!” He shakes your arms for good measure. The healer gets to her knees before you, hand vanishing within you to check the babe. “It’s nearly over. Just one more and you can rest.”

“‘M tired,” you say, the words slurring into a weak groan. Your head bows, neck straining, lost to the function of muscles you can no longer control yourself. “So—so tired.” Your teeth chatter, sweat traversing down your face.

“Push, Princess!” the woman says, midwives bracing your legs wide. You yell, putting what strength you have left into fulfilling the command, but your strength begins to waver. Ūlla smacks your knee. “More than that!”

When you slump exhaustedly, whining through the end of the contraction, she tuts, expression shadowed. The midwives sniffle. His heart stutters.

“With the next wave, you need to push harder, sister,” Rhaenyra says. “As hard as you can!”

Whining into her shoulder, you repeat, “I’m so tired.”

Gerardys looks on with doleful eyes. “Lina… prepare the blade.” An attendant backs away slowly, head bowed. You begin to cry, near insensate.

No. You will not meet your mother’s fate. Daemon refuses. You must force this child from you, for the alternative is unthinkable.

Bending low to speak directly into your ear, he must project the words over the rasping wail that escapes you, your whole body clenching. “You can sleep when the babe is out. But you need to do as you are told now. Do you hear me?”

The veins pop in your temple as you exert your energy, quaking hard enough that the stool wobbles on uneven ground. Your grip is white-knuckled on the midwife beside you. She wrests her hand from you, clutching her arm to her chest.

Daemon crouches down to take her place. You wrap your free arm around his neck, biting down into the meat of his shoulder and screaming into his shirt.

“There we go, Princess!”

“The babe is coming, your Highness!”

You weep. “I think I will die. I think I will die, oh, gods—”

“No! Look at me!” Daemon snatches your chin in his grasp, leaning back to gaze directly at you. Your focus is hazy, shifting in and out of awareness. “I love you,” he says, the depth of it choking in the back of his throat. “I need you. I need my wife. Our children will need their mother. You’ve done it once. You can do it again.”

You bellow, the volume loud enough to occlude his hearing. He thinks he’s yelling with you, but he cannot tell through the ringing in his ears.

“Leg both out! Almost there!”

Rhaenyra laughs, rubbing your back as she peers between your legs. “She’s nearly here, darling!”

“It—it’s a girl?” You pant, twitching as the wave subsides. “A daughter?”

He looks down. Beneath the blood and birthing matter and what he can only assume is shit, he sees the tiny form of his second child. He cannot look away. “She is,” he says, eyes burning. A daughter. “Two legs, ten toes, and a distinct lack of cock.”

When you smile, it is like staring into the face of the Mother herself. If there is anyone, anything, who might persuade him that such a being existed, it is you, here and now. Your curls are thoroughly frazzled and stringy with perspiration, your lips chapped and flaking, your eyes wet and ringed with the circles of one who is far past the point of fatigue—and yet, inexplicably, he doesn’t think you’ve ever been more beautiful, more worthy of the honour of the name Targaryen.

You are a warrior, pushed beyond pain into something greater, something that the songs and stories of Old Valyria could never hope to capture in lyric or verse.

“Pōnte lua arrīs iksā,” he says, cutting through the noise from the depths of your spirit, from your sister, from the woman and the midwives and the maester. Show them what you are.

“By the gods. A breech birth—this is unheard of—”

“Under shoulder now! Big, big push, Princess!”

“Perzys iksā.” You are fire. Daemon can see his reflection in your lilac eyes, ardent, fanatical. “Jaqiarzir iksā.” You are glory.

He doesn’t know if you can even hear him, but your gaze does not leave his, unwavering, intensely focused. Your lashes clump and your lids flicker from the sweat that slides down your forehead, your mouth open and screaming. Still, you stare staunch and resolute at him, the axis upon which your entire world spins. He himself cannot hear anything other than his own beating heart, the rest silent and immaterial.

“Head—the head, darling—”

“Vīlībāzme ērininna, ñuhus prūmȳs,” he says, breath shivering expectantly from his lungs, overcome. You will win this battle, my heart. Never has he been surer of the truth of his own words.

With a final, echoing shout, the babe falls away into the hands of the healer. You cave into him, too drained to shed a tear this time, and he is not ashamed to admit that his own fall instead when the robust bleating of his second-born—his daughter—reaches his ears.

A son and a daughter. One of each.

“Oh, praise the Mother!”

The attendants babble amongst themselves in mingled relief and rapture, no doubt thankful to have witnessed a happy conclusion to the eve’s proceedings.

This time, the healer passes the child to Daemon, tucking her carefully into the crook of his arm. His daughter wiggles and wails furiously, face screwed up in the angriest expression he has ever seen on one so young.

She will be trouble, he muses through his delirium, ogling her with captivated eyes. Brand new to the world and already creating strife.

Like her brother, her head is adorned with thick silver-white hair. Although she is covered in a multitude of substances he doesn’t care to name, she may just be the bonniest girl he has ever seen.

It is as though you have read his mind.

“Look at her,” you say, tracing the whisper-fine lashes that sprout from her lids. “She is a beauty, is she not? Oh, I love her.” The sensation of touch on her skin seems to set off a fresh wave of outrage. You giggle at the tiny fists that shake aimlessly about, ready to fight the universe itself. “You are the loudest creature I have ever met!” Catching a flying wrist, you press a kiss to her fingers, heedless of the muck still coating her.

He knows not where to look. To his daughter, clasped in his hold; to his son, asleep though stirring in the cradle; or to you, wearied and victorious and alive, you have lived, you are here.

“I love you,” he says to you helplessly, adoringly, an echo of words already spoken but ones that must be said again. “I love you.”

You beam, iridescent in the light, radiant with exhilaration and utterly, staggeringly divine. “I love you, too.”

Where the birth of his children seemed to take a millennia, the aftermath is relatively straightforward.

After nursing his daughter at your other breast, you are kept upon the stool until the afterbirth has come away. It’s thoroughly disgusting process that may well have put him off meat for at least a sennight. He can cope with viscera when it’s spilling from the guts of an enemy combatant, but it is certainly unsettling at the least when it has spilled from you, his sweet little niece.

My niece, my wife, mother to my heirs. My son and daughter.

You cry a little as the tissue exits from you—two of them, one for each babe, or so he is told by the healer rubbing firmly at your belly as she coaches you through these final steps—but the pain seems fleeting enough by the speed in which your tears depart.

Though he wants nothing else than to sit and watch his brand-new children, he had made a promise to see you through the entirety of this ordeal. Thus, it is with as good a cheer as he can muster that he keeps you from tipping over while the healer and the maester check you over and an attendant begins to sponge the toil from your skin.

“I trust you’ll not need a more concrete reminder that the blade is to stay the fuck out of the birthing chamber,” he hisses at Gerardys. It is the only thing he feels he can say with you still present.

Despite his attempt at restraint, the vitriol does not appear to escape the physician. The Maester pales, nodding and muttering some meaningless words of contrition. Daemon doesn’t care to listen.

You pay no mind as he helps strip you of your shift, discarding the ruined thing and positioning you obligingly so that the servant may access all the parts of you that are necessary to cleanse you of the mess of your labours. She pays close attention to the flesh between your legs. By the time the deed is done, the bowl is filled with water pinked by your blood. You are then bound with thick cloth over your waist and groin, no doubt to soak up the bleeding has surely commenced by now.

After you are garbed in a clean night-rail and he in his own unsoiled evening wear, Daemon manoeuvres you slowly to the freshly made bed, easing you gently beneath the blankets.

Rhaenyra brings forth one of the babes, depositing the warmly wrapped bundle in your arms. “The girl,” she murmurs by way of explanation, settling beside you and pulling your hair back.

One of the remaining midwives—the majority having filed out after packing as much of the equipment away as was feasible—passes his son to him. Daemon leans forward, touching his lips to the boy’s forehead and inhaling the velvety scent of new life upon his fair crown. His breath hitching, he brings the child back down to rest beside his sister on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side.

“Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made.”

He is. The mist of devotion muddles his view of anything but the two infinitesimal beings braced between you and him, the soft features of infancy already carrying hints of their procreators.

They must be the only flawless creatures in all of existence, he thinks, utterly paralysed by the sentiment clogging his lungs and coursing in his veins, not love but something deeper, darker, ancient and elemental. For he knows that, should they ask, he would give his son and daughter worlds upon worlds, would slay their enemies and burn the bodies at their feet in lavish tribute to their very lives.

“I see them,” he says, choking on the strength of his own emotion.

“What will you call them?” Rhaenyra asks.

You look to him, grinning, a question in your eyes. He dips his head, a silent agreement.

“This is Rhaenar,” you say, fingers tracing along his son’s cheek. “And this”—your hand curves around his daughter’s tiny skull—“is Aelys.”

Behind his ribs, his heart twists and burns, roaring with the rectitude of your declaration, the names carried in his heart from weeks and months of secretive conversation waiting to be given to their rightful owners.

Rhaenar and Aelys. Firstborn heirs of Daemon of House Targaryen.

He tries out their names himself, speaking them into existence, carving them into the pages of history as the Rogue Prince’s greatest of triumphs. “Rhaenar and Aelys.”

Read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/116946517

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #matt smith #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #daemon x oc #daemon x reader #daemon x you #fire and blood #targaryens #targaryen #house targaryen #daemon #daemon/reader

[limerenceheart]

I'd like to imagine a reader with yan blade with nahida/Rukkhadevata dreams ability! You know how rukkha cleansed forbidden knowledge using the power of dreams? Reader can do the same thing with mara and at first they're like open to helping him despite not knowing him well, out of the kindness of their hearts and they felt bad for him. It can either go very well or horrendously bad depending on him 😭

hello anon! i stopped playing genshin impact a VERY long time ago so i am no longer similar with the game. so i used kafka's ability to do this request, i hope the slight change is fine.

par two is here

you couldn't ignore the man found knocked out cold on the ground belonging to a dimly lit alleyway.

a hand grasp your wrist, halting your attempt to put a hand against the strongly built man.

when he opened his eyes to see an unnerving shade of red staring into your soul made you realised this was not a good idea.

but it was too late and whatever you were trying to do seem to irks him.

"What are yo-"

The pain pulsing inside his chest took his breath away and his hiss was enough for you to ignore the fact that he growled at you mere seconds ago.

as a healer, you just wanted to get out of here but you swore an oath to treat any individual so you gently placed your hand on his chest for a light to start swirling around you.

you weren't entirely sure what illness was but the fact that he ignored the way that the wind circled around you both must meant he is in a lot of pain.

his breathing came more stable along with his muscles relaxing as the light dispelled around you.

you could go now since he was healed but it was only after you left the alleyway that you saw the wanted poster of the stellaron hunter.

the daunting red eyes confirmed that stranger was indeed blade.

you started hyperventaliting since you healed a dangerous criminal and he caught a glimpse of your face.

the anxiety caused you to lock yourself inside your house for days, only going outside when needed.

on one particular day, you came back home to find a bouquet of roses along with a letter placed on your kitchen table.

the colour of the roses made alarm bells to ring since the colour was red.

surely, life couldn't be that unfair. why should you be punish for helping a random stranger.

reading the letter only caused the blood to drain from your face.

"why did you leave without saying goodbye? you didn't even tell me your name.

your name was such a trivial matter considering blade knew where you live.

but you was a peacemaker, never a fighter.

#yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail #yandere hsr #hsr #hsr blade #hsr blade x reader #blade x reader #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #blade #blade honkai

[hopepetal]

Part One | Part Two (you are here!)

Read part one on ao3!

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

On his first day of being more than just a guy, Impulse slept in.

He’d always been a light sleeper, so it was surprising that he hadn’t at least woken when the others had started getting up and coming out of their tents, but Impulse just chalked it up to being tired. Maybe summoning demons took a lot of energy. He wouldn’t know– he never finished reading that book from the library. Not that he needed it anymore, with a real demon in his head. 

It was a nice day out. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Impulse could hear more. It seemed that allowing the demon into his head had given him enhanced senses. It was more than a little disorienting at first, but he figured it would get easier with time. Almost like sword fighting, in a way. Daunting at first, but easier as he trained and worked at it. 

As he made his way toward the picnic table they all ate at, Impulse was greeted by Scar and Mumbo, who had clearly just woken up as well. He settled in across from Scar after grabbing some food– Pearl had made some sort of oatmeal for herself and decided that was what the rest of the knights would be having as well, judging by the quantity. She didn’t have to prepare food for the rest of them, and Impulse had said as much on many occasions, but she had shrugged and said that she might as well, since she was up the earliest. It wasn’t as though she did it every day, either. 

Scar grinned at Impulse as he sat down, leaning back from his half finished food. “Well, look who decided to wake up! Any later and we’d have started to call you Grian!” 

Mumbo glanced up, dark eyes wide. “That’s not true, really,” he clarified, and Impulse chuckled.

“Nah, I get it. I’m a little surprised myself,” Impulse admitted, stirring his oatmeal absentmindedly, “but I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Indeed there is, my good man!” Scar stood up, doing a big stretch before plopping right back down on the bench. “Ahh, that felt good.” He glanced over at Mumbo, who was hunched over his bowl. “You should stretch more,” he advised, “it’s good for you.”

Scar wiggled his eyebrows, his smile growing. “Then why don't you ask Impulse for a spar? If you're so fit and healthy, you could take him on, right?”

Mumbo’s cheeks flushed a pale pink. “I do stretch,” he protested, “I’m very fit and very healthy!”

Mumbo dropped his spoon. “Oh– well, I– you see, um…”

Impulse laughed. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Scar. I’d be willing to spar with you, if you would like.”

Sighing, Mumbo looked up at Impulse. “Well, I suppose… would you like to spar with me? Later today?”

Impulse nodded, grinning widely. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Mumbo. How about we spar in a bit, so it’s not too hot for us?”

Mumbo shot a glare at Scar, but it was light hearted. “Sounds lovely, Impulse. I guess I better go get ready, then.” He stood, picking up his empty bowl and reaching down to scoop up his dropped spoon. “I’ll see you in a bit!” he called as he walked away, Scar and Impulse watching him go.

Scar turned back to Impulse, who had continued eating his oatmeal. “Well, I can’t wait to see how that turns out. That is, if I’m able to watch.” He scooped some oatmeal into his mouth, taking a moment to eat before continuing. “Cub wanted to meet up with me at some point today, and I was going to head over after I finished eating. If it doesn’t take too long, maybe I’ll get back in time to watch the fight.”

Impulse nodded, humming softly. “He wanted to check in about the, uh…?” He glanced up at Scar, who nodded. “Yeah. How have you been?” he asked tentatively, watching for Scar’s reaction.

Scar shrugged, seeming unbothered. “I’m alright. It’s been… not difficult, I guess, but I just…” He sighed. “It’s been rough. I still get a little spooked when using vex magic. A lot of anxiety in general, I guess, but I’ve been working on it.” He gave Impulse a small smile. “Takin’ it day by day, y’know? That’s all you can do.”

“That’s all you can do,” Impulse echoed, nodding his head. “I’m glad to hear you’re at least doing alright. We’re here for you if you need anything, alright? You’re not… alone.” He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. Did he truly believe the words he was saying, or were they just empty comforts?

Scar seemed to take it well, though, and his smile became more genuine. “Thanks, Impulse. You too, okay? Ya got any issues, you come to one of us. Or all of us! Whichever you want to do.” 

Impulse laughed. “I’m good, but thank you. Say hi to Cub for me, alright?”

Scar stood up with his empty bowl and nodded. “I will! If I don’t make it back in time, have fun beating Mumbo!”

“Oh, have some faith!” Impulse called after Scar, and then he was alone.

It was only then that he realized Scar hadn’t had Jellie with him. Maybe she was out hunting or something. Did magical familiar cats do that? He’d have to ask Scar later. 

Impulse finished his oatmeal in relative peace and quiet, before taking his bowl and spoon to go wash and place on the drying rack. As he was doing so, a familiar voice whispered to him, startling him enough to make him nearly drop what he was holding.

Hello.

“Void’s name– hi! Uh, good morning…?” Impulse greeted, carefully placing his bowl and spoon on the drying rack. “Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting you. Have you been there this whole time?”

Mhm! You have some lovely friends, the demon commented, but I don’t think it would be wise for me to really be around… some of them. 

For a moment, it was as if Impulse was looking through his own memories– a misty image of Scar sitting across from him during breakfast appeared in his head. It was more than a little disorienting, and Impulse blinked several times. “Huh… what did Scar do?” he asked, confused. “He’s a really nice guy, he’s friendly and good with people.”

The demon hummed thoughtfully, as if trying to come up with the right words. Let's just say we magic folk don’t always get along. You understand, right? I’m a demon, so obviously assumptions would be drawn, and then it just gets so messy.

Impulse thought about it for a moment, before slowly nodding. “Yeah, I get that. I don’t really like keeping secrets from my friends, though.”

Have they not done the same, though? The demon asked innocently, I mean, secrets are a natural part of life. You don’t have to tell everyone everything. 

Impulse pressed his lips together. “...yeah, actually. You’re right.” He thought about it for a few moments, before shaking this head. “I don’t want to think badly of them. They have their reasons.”

Just as you have yours! I’m sure they’d understand.

Impulse glanced up at the sky. “I should probably go get ready for my spar with Mumbo. Thanks for the, uh, chat? I guess?”

I’ll be here! Have fun, be careful!

Impulse didn’t rush getting ready, but didn’t dilly dally either. Soon, he was ready, and headed out to the sparring area to greet Mumbo. 

“Hi, Impulse,” Mumbo greeted him with a nervous air, “I was just finishing up with my um, my stretches. You know, Scar taught me a few really good ones, if you’d like to– oh, goodness, can you tell I’m a little bit nervous?”

Impulse simply laughed, shaking his head. “It's been a while since we sparred,” he noted with an easy smile as he stretched. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me again.”

Mumbo laughed anxiously. “Yes, well, constantly losing wasn't too good for my pride. But I'm ready now, and raring to go!” He let out a weak cheer. “Who knows! Maybe I'll even win this time!” He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as Impulse. 

“Maybe!” Impulse cheerily agreed, “I've noticed you've been practicing!” He picked up his sword, spinning it in his hand once. “Alright, get ready,” he warned Mumbo, shifting into a battle stance. He waited for the other knight to ready up before making the first move. 

Mumbo had improved, that was for sure. Not that Impulse hadn't been expecting that– he'd seen how hard the man was working. It made him proud, seeing how far Mumbo had come. “Good!” he shouted as Mumbo blocked a particularly tricky attack, a wide grin on his face. The other knight only responded with a panicked noise, though the slight smile on his face told Impulse he was alright. 

“This is–” Mumbo got out breathlessly– “much harder… than you make it… seem!” He parried Impulse, keeping a semi-defensive grip on his sword. It had been something Impulse had worked on with Mumbo before. Because he was so tall, there weren’t as many opportunities for him to use the most defensive grip possible. With a bit of tweaking, however, they had found a stance and a grip that worked the best for him, and continued to work on that with every spar. 

Impulse blocked one of Mumbo’s attacks with a laugh. “You’re doing great! Just stay focused, and don’t overthink it. Remember the basics!”

Mumbo nodded, his eyes shining with determination. Impulse was reminded of why he loved helping out the other knights with their swordplay so much during spars like these. It was honestly incredible to see how each individual person uniquely used their skills and strengths to wield the same weapon. It filled him with genuine pride to see how his friends slowly began to flourish in something they weren’t naturally talented in.

It also reminded Impulse of his own journey. The highs and lows of it all, the trial and error, the relentless drills and training and repetition that brought him to where he was today. He was good at what he did; one of the best, even. And it always brought him joy to see others follow the same path he had.

Mumbo was tiring much more quickly than Impulse was, which he had expected. While Mumbo had been training more and working on honing his swordplay, endurance was another issue entirely. The kind of strength needed for endurance wasn’t just something that could be learnt overnight– no, endurance was something that had to be built up towards over your life, with constant practice and training. Impulse always took care to watch his friends during sparring matches, making sure they weren’t going to overwork themselves or get injured. He was good at spotting the point at which exertion turned to exhaustion and easing up on the attacks.

Or so he thought.

With a strength that hardly felt his own, Impulse struck at Mumbo, knocking him to the ground. The tip of his sword just barely brushed against Mumbo’s pale skin, like scissors against paper. For a moment, they remained like that, Mumbo’s gasps for air the only sound breaking the silence as he stared up at Impulse. 

Then, whatever had come over Impulse let go, and he stumbled back from Mumbo with a soft huff. “Oh my gosh. Mumbo, I am so sorry, I don’t know why– I didn’t mean to hit you as hard as I did. Are you alright?”

Mumbo let out a shaky laugh, carefully picking himself up and brushing himself off. “I’m alright, mate. Little shaken up, but fine.” He looked up at Impulse with a nervous smile. “It’s fine! Really! Accidents happen all the time! Oh, gosh. I think that signals the end of the spar though.” He laughed awkwardly as he picked up his sword– he’d dropped it when he’d fallen. “I don’t think I could've lasted much longer, honestly. I was getting pretty tired.”

Impulse looked Mumbo over quickly, making sure there weren’t any injuries. “Yeah, I… you did really well, though,” he finished lamely. “I can’t believe I did that, I usually only get that heated in my matches against Pearl,” he admitted, somewhat ashamed. “You aren’t hurt?” he asked, just in case he’d missed anything in his quick check.

“Just a bruised pride!” Mumbo said, “and maybe an actual bruise or two, but nothing bad.”

Impulse sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re alright. That won’t happen again, I swear.”

Mumbo waved him off. “Ahh, don’t worry. Like I said, accidents happen. Especially when we play with very sharp, very dangerous toys.”

“These are training swords, Mumbo,” Impulse reminded, “but yes, that’s true.” He took another moment to relax, the thrill of battle still singing in his veins. “I’m going to go take a quick walk to cool down. Good job today. You’re really improving, and I’m glad to see it.”

Mumbo nodded, smiling. “Um, thank you! Thank you very much. I’m gonna- I’m going to go check on Grian. See if he’s awake and all.”

With that, the two parted ways, and Impulse was left wondering what exactly had happened.

I know. 

“Was it you?” he asked the demon, trying to keep any sort of accusation out of his tone. “I didn’t– that didn’t feel like me.” 

Well, it kind of was? the demon admitted, but it wasn’t on purpose. I know you’ve already noticed the whole enhanced senses thing, but now that we’re bound, I’m also giving you strength. I didn’t really think to tell you about it, but I’m really very sorry. I thought you would be able to control it.

Impulse sighed. “I… I don’t blame you, it’s my fault for not expecting something like this. I just… I don’t want to hurt my friends. Thank you for telling me about this now, though.”

Accidents happen. 

“Yeah. They do.”

The rest of the day felt much less jovial and carefree than the previous one. Whether the mood had been dampened by the accident during training, or Impulse was just worrying too much, things seemed to be a little more dull. 

Scar returned from Cub’s to learn of the spar, of which he teased Mumbo relentlessly for losing. Soon after, Grian appeared, claiming nightmares to be the reason as to why he’d slept in so late. 

“It’s weird,” Grian complained to the gathered knights over lunch, which was really his breakfast, “I’ve never really been one to have nightmares, but they just wouldn’t stop last night.”

“Sounds like you’re just making up excuses for sleeping in,” Pearl commented, to which Grian rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep earlier! It works for me!”

“Well, sorry I don’t want to hit the hay before the sun’s even gone down,” Grian snarked, and the two began their usual light hearted bickering.

Later in the day, Impulse pulled Scar aside. “Hey. I was wondering where Jellie was? I didn’t see her with you this morning. Does she go out hunting, or something?”

The familiar perked up at the sound of Scar’s voice and bounded over, before stopping just a few feet away. She gazed warily at Impulse, and Scar frowned. “Well, that’s weird. Jellie, c’mere!” he repeated, and Jellie somewhat reluctantly followed his orders, jumping into his arms and curling up as she usually did. Scar looked back up at Impulse, smiling. “Here she is! The beautiful lady herself!” 

Scar shook his head. “I just hadn’t summoned her. She’s somewhere around here, I think… but she doesn’t really go hunting? Not unless she acts on her animal instincts, because she’s a spirit and doesn’t need food.” He looked around. “Oh, there she is– Jellie! C’mere, pretty girl!” 

Impulse laughed. “Alright, thank you Scar. How was Cub, by the way?”

“Oh, he was great. He says hi to you, too.” Scar rocked Jellie in his arms like one would a baby. She seemed to be okay with this– as okay as a cat could be with something, at least. “We just talked about some stuff, the usual. Magic this and that, y’know?”

“Sounds like a blast,” Impulse commented, to which Scar nodded enthusiastically. 

“It’s so cool! Cub just knows all these cool things, and he’s so smart–” 

Aaand Scar was rambling again. Impulse did his best to pay attention to everything the other knight was saying, but got lost somewhere along the lines of “...and then these big chompies came up from the ground!” which, in his opinion, was a perfectly valid place to get lost at. He had no idea what “big chompies” even were. 

That night, the knights set up a campfire to sit around and chat. Although it was a lovely night, with a clear sky and warm air, Impulse found himself growing… not exactly restless, not exactly tired, but something akin to a mix of both. He excused himself for the night, and figured that going to bed a little earlier than usual would be good for him. Pearl was usually right about things like that. 

Impulse fell asleep, and dreamed of twisting bridges high in the sky.

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Book Openings I Love

Deciding how to start your book is an important and daunting question. I put together a list of book openings I love- and what makes them so good- to help brainstorm.

If you have any you'd like to add, please do! Let's keep this post ongoing.

1) Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan

Anyone who read this book as a kid will know exactly what I mean.

'The Lightning Thief' starts with a warning to the reader to stop reading the book immediately and believe whatever lies their parents have told them. Otherwise, 'they' might come for them.

An adult might roll their eyes at this, but as a kid, you believe it. You find yourself wondering if what you're reading is true. It makes you feel like you're a part of this story- even if you haven't realized it yet. So, as you read on, you might end up looking for the signs and clues that this world of Greek gods and monsters exists around you in real life. The lines between fiction and reality blur, if only for a little while, and you become immersed in the story, because on some level, you can't help but want it to be real.

It also leaves you feeling that by reading this, you're doing something forbidden- something dangerous. Exactly the kind of stuff that gets your heart racing as a kid.

2) Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Life of Pi is one of my favorite books of all time, and the beginning has a lot to do with it.

"This book was born as I was hungry. Let me explain."

The book begins with an author's note that's not exactly an author's note. It begins as any author's note might- the writer explains how his previous publication was a bust, and that he took a trip to India to reinvigorate his creativity as he tried to write a new book that ultimately sputtered and died. That was, until he met a man who promised to tell him a story that will make him believe in God. The man then told him to seek out the main character, who is alive, and living in Canada. When the author does, he agrees that his story is indeed a story to make one believe in God, and commits to writing it down as a book through the main character's point of view, only with the disclaimer "any inaccuracies or mistakes are mine."

As they follow this progression, because of the way it's all structured, there's a good chance the reader might find themselves asking "Wait, is this a true story?"

The answer is of course no, and anyone who's read through most of the book would probably figure that out easily. However, if you get to the ending, you realize the question "Is this a true story?" has significant implications for the story's themes- and that makes them all the more resonant.

TL;DR: Life of Pi's beginning does the same as The Lightning Thief's beginning, only in a less obvious way that's far more effective on adults.

3) One of Us is Lying by Karen M. McManus

The premise of "One of Us is Lying" is that someone killed a boy named Simon, and that the people in the room when it happened- who just so happen to be the four POV characters- are the main suspects. The book then starts off my immediately putting the reader in the scene where Simon dies.

Now I'm not sure if this is a common mystery novel set up (I haven't read enough of this genre to know), but it's an effective one. This has the effect of getting the reader engaged in the story right from the get-go. Instead of passively reading the chain of events, the people who picked up the book are already going to be searching in between the lines for any clues on 'who done it.'

But not only is the reader looking all the little details in the scene, but they're also going to be questioning the POV of the person narrating the chapter. From the very start of the story, the reader gets immersed in several levels of tension that hook them and carry them through the rest of the story.

4) The Giver by Lois Lowry

"It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. No. Wrong word, Jonas thought. Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen."

The first chapter begins with a scene of an aircraft flying overhead a peaceful community, and a child narrator who's overly careful about using the right words to describe things. The narrator's trait doesn't appear to be unique though- a quick flashback to a moment in his classroom shows that this tendency has been drilled into him, just as with any other kid. The reader immediately gets the sense that something is off. What that something is, though, is a bit harder to pin.

There doesn't seem to be anything nefarious going on, aside from maybe the mention of a citizen getting 'released' after the aircraft landed and everything calmed down. Only, later in that chapter, being 'released' gets mentioned twice again at his family dinner, as his parents discuss how their work went that day. But otherwise, the dinner seems to be a normal and mundane affair with an emotionally mature, functional family. Maybe a little too functional.

So, when Jonas decides that the feeling he's experiencing is 'apprehensive,' the readers start to feel that way too.

5) A Natural History of Dragons by Marie Brennan

The preface and first chapter of "A Natural History of Dragons" does a great job of introducing one of the series's greatest assets: its main character.

"One benefit of being an old woman now, and moreover one who has been called a "national treasure," is that there are very few who can tell me what I may and may not write."

In the preface of the book, we find out exaclty who the main character/narrator is: a famous Victorian-era woman and accomplished dragon scholar, who's too old to care about being a 'proper lady' anymore. What's more, she's writing a series of memoirs about her life to satisfy the many adoring fans who have been writing her letters in hopes of hearing about the juicy gossip of her famous expeditions.

The narration oozes with personality from the very beginning, and that's before we even get to meet any dragons. Following this introduction, we get to see where her passion for dragon studies began: collecting little dragon "sparklings" as a kid. While her fictional readers would know these little creatures as commonplace in her world, the actual readers don't, since this world is as new to us as it was to her as a child. As such, the reader gets to share in her childlike wonder, and gets excited by the promise to discover the secrets of dragons right along with her.

#creative writing #writing #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #novel writing #writerscommunity #book blog #bookblr #books #writing advice #on writing #writer stuff #writer #writeblr #long post #booklr #books and reading #reading

[justporo]

Words like daggers

A Night of Fake Smiles and Hidden Lies: Part 5

Author's Note: Firstly, don't worry. This part was already finished some time ago. I'm really trying to keep my promise to take my time with things, but I'm SO proud of this part, so you're getting it now and I will just update the fic how I feel like it after this. Also this part is pretty long so next chapter might take a couple more days so I can catch up.

Astarion and Tav finally enter the ball which is a show of blatant excess. Conversations are had, introductions are made and by the end champagne is splashed in peoples' faces and Astarion unknowingly lets out the most vicious of mockeries. Please enjoy!

Song: Camille Saint-Saëns – Danse Macabre Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Lots of swearing, soft mention of SA, people just being dicks...

CHAPTER LIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

~~~

Slowly, the two of you made your way down the stairs to the ginormous ballroom.

Dim golden light from giant chandeliers, candles and mage lights everywhere set the atmosphere: warm, inviting, enticing and a bit gloomy; with the promise of darker corners where the light wouldn’t reach.

On the far end to one side of what could only be described as a hall was almost a full orchestra playing and the dancing was already in full swing – the middle of the room wholly reserved for couples twirling and turning. Enchanting melodies filled the room and sometimes the heavenly voice of an elven singer in front of the orchestra, precariously clothed in a white dress, drifted through the crowd.

Opposite the staircase tall windows and doors led outside where more people were standing with a view of the gardens of Herrenfordt Castle in the moonlight. A view so vast, you could see the hilly greens of the estate, then further below and seemingly an eternity away the twinkling lights of the city and the almost invisible in the darkness of the night: the river Chionthar.

And on the other side from the orchestra, you could see huge and widely thrown open doors that led to other rooms and other parts of the mansion. Quite a lot of the guests seemed to disappear into these other rooms but only few seemed to come back, mostly servants were coming from there – carrying trays loaded with more drinks and some with canapés on them. Yet the main ballroom didn’t seem to empty out anytime soon.

All around people were standing as couples or smaller groups: chatting, slandering, laughing, drinking the champagne or eating the food being offered by the many servants passing through the crowd with huge silver trays. Some seemed to be well in their cups already, staggering or sloshing their drinks while talking and gesticulating animatedly. Some couples already seemed very handsy as well – hands wandering deeper from backs to more insolent regions, décolletages emphasised with a carefully placed hand or arched back, spines straightened and shoulders rolled back to look taller and more intimidating.

Gold, diamonds and pearls seemed to be everywhere you looked. Everything and everyone was sparkling in their finery and giving off the aura of careless excess and frivolous debauchery.

Jewels shone from daunting cleavages, signet rings clanked on chalices, flamboyant headpieces swung around during coquettish laughter, deep red lips left stains on crystal glasses and silk shone like liquid in the dim lighting.

An impressive display of languid ignorance and luxurious degeneracy. And it was more than impressive even – it was intimidating.

You gulped as you let your eyes wander over the scenery and the crowd.

“Chin up, my love, we have a right to be here as much as everybody else. And also, you’re the second most beautiful person in this room, my heart”, you heard Astarion joke beside you. You gave him a look from the side as you indeed lifted your head up some more and straightened your back.

Astarion though didn’t look nervous at all. He wholly looked as if he belonged, his face now a display of arrogant boredom. And more than that even: he well looked like he could be the owner and host of all of this.

“You really have a way with backhanded compliments, you know that?”, you replied and looked down at the crowd again. Even more heads were turned towards you now, observing you as you made your entrance to this ball – and accordingly to the high society of Baldur’s Gate. But at least the pale elf at your side had managed to take the edge of your fear in that moment.

“Tell me I’m wrong, love”, Astarion replied and you could see him grin at you when you threw him another glance. “How could I?” And to that the vampire replied with a genuine smile.

As you descended the last couple of steps you could already see a young, male and pretty broad shouldered servant approach you with a tray full of broad rimmed crystal glasses filled with what you assumed must be this champagne people kept talking about – not that you ever tried it.

The servant came closer, an easy and polite smile on his lips. Seemingly, the dress code for the servants from here on out was much more casual: uniforms for men and women consisting of black pants, vests and loose white shirts which for most were only very lazily laced at the top.

“Ah, time for another lesson, my love: when someone hands you a glass of champagne: never decline!”, Astarion whispered to you as the server offered you the tray and you each carefully grabbed a glass. The server with long and loose black hair and slightly greyish skin – you were sure there must be drow in his ancestry - gave you a small wink then turned around to other guests.

You were surprised for a second and looked at Astarion who simply raised his eyebrows: “I told you, you looked incredible.” You shook your head with furrowed brows and took a sip of the sparkling champagne. As you drank you noticed how almost all faces that had previously been watching you had now turned around again. Obviously, the interest had merely been in watching you being presented like a piece of morsel on a silver platter – no one actually had any interest in getting to know you.

The champagne filled your mouth and surprised you with its taste: prickly and sharp but also with a rich sweetness that filled you and warmly eased its way down your throat. You were surprised to say you liked it.

While you drank you let your eyes wander of the crowd and found it quite diverse, but not as diverse as you were used to from your city: many humans and half-elves were present which wasn’t a surprise because they made up a large portion of the city’s overall population. Proportionally many elves were guests even which also wasn’t surprising because many were nobles and mostly represented in the Upper City. Even some tieflings or dragonborns were to be seen but rarely any dwarves, halflings or other races. Which confirmed what you had feared: while the city was generally pretty diverse and inclusive, the high society was elitist and only open too few. The champagne in your mouth tasted suddenly a bit like bile as you thought about that.

But your critical thoughts were soon interrupted by your soulmate. “Oh, what a fine drop. Dear, dear, I wouldn’t be surprised if this champagne wasn’t only older than you, my sweet, but also older than me”, Astarion said after he had taken some sips too. “This must unimaginably expensive”, he continued and let his gaze wander to you just as you had just downed the rest of your glass.

“Tav!”, he shrieked, his voice immediately several octaves higher as you blushed and realised that you had probably gulped down more money’s worth than you had paid for alcoholic beverages so far in your life. “But you said to never decline champagne”, you answered remorsefully. “Yes, decline, I didn’t tell you to down it like a pint of lukewarm beer tasting like piss”, the vampire hissed at you, but you already saw the servant from before approach again, throwing you a wicked smile and letting you swap out your empty glass for a new filled one. You thanked the server with a smile as he winked at you a second time and left again.

“And stop flirting with the staff!”, Astarion spat albeit you could hear that he was only teasing. Still, you were dangerously tempted to stomp on his foot: “I didn’t do anything! You told me to drink the champagne and suddenly I’m doing it all wrong or what? And you dragged me here all dolled up as if you wanted to show me off!” Your tone was half mad, half joking.

The vampire didn’t reply but pulled you in with a smirk by putting one arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest before he said in a tone that wasn’t remorseful at all: “I mean you’re not wrong. Maybe a bit of ‘showing you off’ was part of my plan for the night. Mostly though it was how much I could dress you up to my personal liking.” He grinned seductively at you, his lip darting out to lick over his lips and for a moment you forgot you were in public. You let yourself be kissed by the elf with open lips, your free hand digging into his doublet as the mood turned from your playful bickering to something other.

At least in the back of your mind a voice reminded you that you were very much publicly making out with Astarion. But then you remembered how you already had seen some couples very obviously sneak away to darker and deeper corners of the castle. If you were putting on a show for someone you were at least sure to blend right in with the crowd.

“And by any means, darling”, Astarion whispered to you as he broke the kiss but kept staring at your lips “keep drinking as much champagne as you like. You know people say it’s an aphrodisiac, right?” You blushed but couldn’t reply as the vampire pressed his lips to you again, one of his fangs shortly grazing your bottom lip and making you shiver.

“I’m not carrying you home though when you pass out”, he whispered when he broke the kiss again. You made a face at him although your head was still spinning from the kiss – also you were absolutely sure that he would carry you home if the need arose.

“I’m not carrying you home either, Astarion, just so were both on the same page here”, you replied and stuck your tongue out at him, then turned around. The vampire softly placed his free hand on the small of your back and softly lead you around the enormous ballroom.

You made to walk around the room for a little while, each just sipping on your champagne – Astarion now stealing naughty looks at you whenever you lifted your glass to your lips. Your partner had taken up some of his commentary from earlier as you walked around the room. Pointing out some people he knew and what their dirty laundry was as you kept drinking. Meanwhile the music and the dancing continued. Couples of all combinations entered and danced, those who left looked giddy and flushed. You were actually starting to feel excited to join them later on but for that you felt you had need of a few more glasses of champagne.

And as you were on your third and Astarion on his second glass you were suddenly approached with a subtle cough from the side as you were passing an open door that led outside.

As you looked over you saw a slender half-elf man with dodgy eyes looking at you. When you found his gaze, he cheerfully said: “Ah, you must be Lord and Lady Ancunín! Would you do us all the honours of maybe joining us for a while?”

He motioned towards a small group of people: a beautiful young tiefling woman just as slender as him but with incredibly sad eyes and blue skin that seemed to be his wife, another couple, human, consisting of a man with a bushy beard who seemed way too buff for his doublet and a woman with a dangerously deep neckline and several strands of pearls around her neck who was holding a very furry, small dog, and finally another seemingly a bit older half-elf woman with an incredibly tasteless headpiece with feathers.

You quickly looked at Astarion who looked at you and shrugged before he softly put his hand on your back again to lead you towards the strange little group.

Astarion softly whispered to you: “Remember, if you don’t feel comfortable just elbow them ‘on accident’”- he air quoted, lifting his hand from your back shortly – “and watch what happens before you leave.” You grimaced at him but felt thankful for his quip, nonetheless.

The slender one who had talked to you first introduced everyone while nervously running his hands through is sleeked back hair. You listened to all the fancy long names and titles and immediately forgot them again. But you were sure it didn’t matter anyway.

“Oh my, Lord Ancunín, how have you been hiding for so long from society, hm?”, the lady with the dog said and made eyes at your soulmate while letting one hand wander the rim of her deep cleavage, so obviously not hiding her interest in Astarion. Meanwhile, the dog on her other arm started to snarl and bark at the vampire excessively. The vampire rolled his tongue in his mouth and took a drink of his champagne as his eyes followed her hand riskily wander the outline of her breasts. You immediately felt anger rise up in you at her audacity. The grip on your glass tightened and you were sure your face must’ve immediately slipped.

You saw how Astarion’s nose softly wrinkled in disgust. His eyes jumped back to the lady and bored into her: “I haven’t exactly been hiding from society, I’ve just been otherwise occupied.”

You knew he was playing at being under Cazador’s thumb but dog lady obviously mistook his words. “Shame, really! If I had met you earlier, I would have eaten you right up, my dear”, she replied, chuckled and patted Astarion on the arm – the vampire’s nose scrunched up even more and you felt him tense beside you. He smoothly stepped out of her reach, she let her hand lay on the bare skin of her chest again and kept batting her eyelashes at him. The grip on your glass of champagne tightened even more as you felt like you had entered a den of wolves.

The rest of their little group giggled softly, obviously used to her insolent behaviour. Only the tiefling lady with the sad eyes kept simply drinking from her chalice and looking out longingly at the gardens bathed in silver moonlight.

You suddenly felt the urge to grab Astarion’s hand, so you did. You squeezed his hand reassuringly. He squeezed back a bit and lifted it up shortly to press a kiss to your fingers with a short glance towards you under the judgemental eyes of the rest of the group.

Meanwhile, the dog kept barking at the vampire. “Pomme de terre! Will you be silent for once!”, dog lady shrieked at her puppy and then shook him to silence him, much to your shock and disgust.

Astarion who had just then been taking another sip practically snorted into his glass. He lifted his chin and said with a vicious gleam in his eyes: “Vous avez nommer cet chien ‘pomme de terre’? Vraiment?” Your head turned towards him, brows furrowing – you hadn’t understood a single word of what he’d been saying.

But neither had anyone of the small group of nobles. The broad-shouldered husband of the one addressed simply coughed and emptied his drink. The rest threw each other looks that clearly stated their opinions about the two of you: scum.

“Vous êtes plus stupide que je l’imaginais, bravo!”, Astarion continued as he received only questioning looks in response again and took a deep swig of his champagne with a maliciously mocking grin. The dog kept barking and growling as the group threw each other confused looks once more. The owner of the dog looked definitely displeased by what she at least interpreted correctly as mockery at her expense.

As the silence dragged on, Astarion leaned over to you and quickly whispered to explain: “She called her dog ‘potato’ in another common tongue I am sure she does not know a single word off.”

Then he grinned at you, you grinned back. Of course, he’d be the one to know something like this and be able to call her out on it. You had to be honest: you loved it when Astarion showed off his vast knowledge, especially if it were others on the receiving end.

And you didn’t feel as intimidated anymore: they might think you were beneath them, but you knew they were beneath you – at least in terms of character.

Dog lady looked both of you up and down in a very judgemental way. Her husband motioned towards one of the servants, grabbing two glasses – one for himself and one for his wife who didn’t even look at him while taking the drink from him – and then patting the young man carrying the tray on the chest in thanks. Then silence spread again after Astarion’s mockery. Solely the dog kept barking and started to get on your nerves a little – but who could blame the creature with its bad luck in ownership.

Then suddenly a murmur started to rise through the crowd, especially inside, making everyone’s heads turn. At the top of the stairs stood a tall, blond man, elegantly dressed raising a glass towards the people who clapped and cheered. So, this was probably your mysterious host Lord De Grodt. You grabbed Astarion by his sleeve, but he was occupied with something else.

Astarion used the moment of commotion to bare his teeth and hiss at the dog who immediately stopped barking. He started to whimper and squirm in his owner’s arms, desperate to get away from what had revealed himself as the much bigger predator until the rude lady finally set him down and he could hide behind her skirts.

By the time Astarion had turned around the host had already disappeared again somewhere atop the gallery. The vampire looked quizzically at you but you just waved it off for the moment – you were already occupied enough with the nobles right in front of you.

The group started to talk again but explicitly left you out of the conversation now. Obviously, Astarion’s taunting had moved you down enormously on their list of interests – or rather him. It almost felt like you had been invisible for them from the start; not counting the very first mention.

The lady with the ugly feather headpiece started to talk about how her estate’s upkeep in Neverwinter just kept rising because personnel was just so expensive. She kept waving her hands around and you noticed she was wearing excessively big rings that were just as ugly as her hat.

You threw Astarion a glance who kept staring at the pretentious nobles and weren’t completely sure how to interpret his facial expression. You would have liked to leave but then again… You had overcome more mortal perils than you could tell, you surely wouldn’t shy away from some arrogant assholes. So you took another big sip of champagne and lifted your chin up while you let your free hand wander up Astarion’s back until it laid on his shoulder. He absent-mindedly covered it with his own as he kept staring at the others – his demeanour almost as if he were a cat focusing on the prey in front of him.

The lady with the feather headpiece noticed your gesture and looked at your joint hands on Astarion’s shoulder for a moment. Then her eyes suddenly jumped to yours with a glint in them you couldn’t quite place.

She spoke in a sudden outburst that halted all other conversation: “And so you must be the lord’s…”, she said and gave you a look that immediately gave you the feeling of being naked before her. You couldn’t help but feel intimidated yet again and stayed silent.

“I mean, I would have said wife because you were introduced as Lord and Lady but I didn’t see a ring on either of your hands and nowadays people would bring the staff they’re sleeping with.” She gave an absolutely over the top sort of laugh that made your hairs stand on end. The others joined in with mocking laughter: dog lady lifted her hand to cover her mouth and gave you a mean look. Even the tiefling gave a condescending snarl as you could feel yourself turn a deep shade of red. And you really didn’t like how it seemed the attention had now shifted to you.

“Yes, I mean, can you remember when Lord Levlon brought his ex-wife’s maid when she already had a huge belly? Nobody believed that had happened before the divorce!”, the skittish guy who had first spoken to you said and cackled.

“But don’t worry, my love, seems your beau still seems to be fairly interested in you – even though let’s see how long. Don’t take it personal but you don’t seem to be of the same standing as everyone else”, said feather hat. Your gaze snapped to hers as you felt you lost grip on the situation. They all suddenly seemed to close in on you.

“Men are so quickly captivated by a pair of young and perky breasts until they realise there’s no brain to go with the tits”, dog lady continued and placed her hand on her cleavage again and arched an eyebrow at you while smirking – as if that were the case for her.

“But do not be worried. If your lover here gets you knocked up, he’ll probably pay generous amounts of gold to keep you quiet and the child hidden”, skittish guy said with a vicious grin at you.

Astarion stared at everyone, his fingers over yours squeezing them as he was fuming with rage, almost hurting you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to say anything but rather that he didn’t trust himself to not rip them up in front of all the other guests if he dared so much as move a single finger. His brows were drawn together so much in anger, the wrinkle between them seemed impossibly deep.

“They always pay to cover up their shame”, beard guy said and downed the rest of his champagne in one go and waved for the young male servant again.

“It’s always the same, honestly”, dog lady sighed theatrically “the most beautiful ones only tend to think with their cock and the tacky little sluts seize the oppor-“

“STOP TALKING TO US LIKE THAT, BITCH!”, you screamed in a sudden outburst, burning with rage and before you could think better of it you threw the rest of your champagne in the face of this wretched woman. She gasped but was obviously dumbfounded by your short circuit reaction.

You knew your face must be fire red. You didn’t shout loud enough to raise your voice above the rest of the party, but people around surely started to raise eyebrows, turn their gaze and shake their heads.

“My, would you listen to the mouth on that thing”, the tiefling woman said with an incredibly disgusted face. The first thing she said since you had been standing there and it was to mock you. That finally made Astarion snap out of his blind rage enough to react.

The vampire downed the rest of his champagne then set down the crystal glass down so hard it cracked on the tray of the servant who had just come over and now awkwardly stood beside him and beard guy as the drama unfolded. The vampire let go of your fingers and your hand fell weakly to your side again.

“Oh, you should better fucking listen, indeed, darling”, he growled. “Because that’s quite the attitude for someone whose husband fucks a woman so tasteless, she wears dresses her tits almost fall out of”, Astarion continued and let his gaze wander to dog lady whose mouth immediately formed a surprised O.

The tiefling woman stared at Astarion in shock as her skittish husband became somehow even more skittish and started to open and close his mouth soundlessly like a fish and helplessly flailing his arms – confirming Astarion’s words without having to speak.

“Oh, you hadn’t known yet? Pity, maybe if you stopped staring off into the distance you would have noticed how they kept looking at each other and licked their lips”, the vampire went on with a huge and unfriendly grin now splitting his face. Then his gaze went back to the dog woman.

Meanwhile, your jaw almost dropped as you kept listening to him. More people around you started to turn around, some gasped as you had certainly become a centre of attention now. Murmurs rose around you.

“I wonder why though you felt like you needed to downgrade yourself so much. Ah, but maybe it’s because your husband so obviously has a thing for the male servers here and keeps making them uncomfortable with his gazes and touches”, Astarion snarled. The servant beside him gasped and then quickly turned on his heel and left.

The group was dead silent now. Only feather hat was snickering nastily. But then the vampire’s gaze fell on her: “Oh and don’t think you’ll leave as the gracious one here. The estate you pretend you’re owning in Neverwinter? It has been knocked down for decades. Maybe do better research if you’re only pretending to be rich. And get better replica rings, a blind person could tell you these are fake, dear.”

Now everyone was silent, you could only stare at your soulmate who had absolutely verbally decimated this group of pretentious nobles. But there was one final blow to be dealt.

“None of you seem to have a brain to go with anything, really – except for how much you all deserve each other’s vile company. Ah, and maybe some gold and a title that once meant something – but watch how quickly that turns to dust when you miserably rot alone”, Astarion finished with a hiss and cocked an eyebrow at the round before he gave a vicious version of his best signature smirk.

They simply stared at him as he then gave a curt but elegant bow and turned to you: “My sweet, beautiful, smart and wonderful darling, would you like to leave now? I fear we’ll only get dumber if we stay here.” He offered you his hand which you gratefully took and smiled at his compliments.

You both turned around to go back inside.

“You BITCH”, you heard as you walked away – followed by a loud smack and different screams of pain, shock and anger. More shouts and smacking sounds followed; you could hear the dog barking again. Seemingly a fight had broken out.

You didn’t look back, you just threw Astarion a glance who smiled at you wickedly. A mirroring smile slowly crept onto your face as you kept looking at your partner in crime.

“That was so much better than just elbowing them”, you said to Astarion as your wicked grin grew broader.

Tags: @aurasyn @margoteve @usuallyunlikelyfox @hollowmasque @worryknotdear

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #a night of fake smiles and hidden lies #tav #bg3

[lady-lunaaa]

"just say you want me"

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x f!reader

Rating: MATURE, minors dni

Warnings: idiots/rivals to lovers that's literally it (oh and this is set during the Arabasta Arc because that's where I am in the anime k cool)

WC: 2.1K

Thank you to my beloved @gixxie for this request, I AM OBSESSED WITH IT. It's like twice the length it was supposed to be, oops. This idiot has my heart + soul, wanna bicker with him every day till death do us part 💚

You were currently crouched behind some barrels in the dirt in the middle of Nanohana's marketplace. It was as hot as Satan's asshole in Arabasta, not helped by the overcrowded streets and local delicacies being cooked over open flames at various stalls. Not even the obscenely skimpy dancer outfit Sanji picked out for you could placate the devilish heat. You hated it here. And you hated the one crew member you happened to be stuck with.

It was his fault you were hunched over supplies of what could only be perfume, the sickeningly sweet scent causing an ache to form between your brows, hiding from a couple of Marines - a woman carrying a sword and some newbie in full uniform. Zoro always managed to make your life more difficult. And more irritating. Somehow you always got stuck with the agitated swordsman. To the disgust of you both.

You peeked over Zoro's shoulder as he peered out from your hiding place to watch the woman converse with a local, no doubt asking if they had seen your pirate Captain or any of his crew. He looked panicked and very uncomfortable, brows pinching in the middle of his forehead, the longer he watched the interaction.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics and couldn't help the scorn that slipped past your lips. "Unbelievable. Scared of a pretty little Marine."

Zoro flinched at your voice as if he hadn't realised you were so close and turned to you with a scowl, "I'm not scared, and she's tougher than she looks." He mumbled the last part, eyes flicking back to the blue-haired woman. You had no idea who she was but clearly Zoro did. And knowing him he probably pissed her off to some degree, if his cowering was anything to go by.

Nothing ever went simply for your crew...as if facing off against Crocodile wasn't a daunting enough task. The Marines just had to follow you here and get involved.

"Nawhh, does Zoro have a crush?" You put on your best simpering voice, pouting at your crew mate and making kissy noises. You doubted he actually did, the oaf was always too busy trying to be the world's greatest swordsman to ever entangle himself in romantic feelings (something that made you feel horribly relieved), but your words had their desired intention. Zoro's face grew red with anger as he clenched his jaw to hold back the tirade of insults you knew he wanted to spew at you.

"Shut. Up." He growled at you, a warning in his tone. You'd both been at it all day, bickering back and forth over nothing, the heat prickling at your waning patience. The two of you were even more impossible to be around than usual that even Sanji had made a comment to you about laying off Zoro. And he never defended his green-haired nemesis. It had been very disturbing, indeed.

You just smirked at him, wholly unaffected by the underlying threat simmering in his gaze. "Who knew the greatest swordsman in the world" - you put heavy sarcasm into the title making Zoro bristle further - "could be so shy? Maybe I'll call her ov-"

Just as you pushed yourself to your feet and raised a hand- you were yanked back down again. Your head narrowly missed the metal edge of the barrel and you hissed at your companion, rage bubbling in your gut.

"Idiot!" Zoro seethed, his grip around your wrist tighter than it needed to be, but you wouldn't let him know that. "If she's here, then Smoker isn't far behind."

Oh, you definitely pushed too far this time. Zoro looked as if he was about to throttle you. Good. Now he knew how it felt being around him all day every day.

"Pussy," you scoffed, wrenching your wrist from his fingers with a sniff.

"You're so fucking annoying, yaknow that?" He sighed, dropping his hand to rest on his sword's pommel. Clearly, you'd won this round. The old-man-at-heart had run out of steam. The thought made you immeasurably proud.

"The great Roronoa Zoro finally too afraid for a battle," your tone was light and voice low, testing the waters of his patience. He was faced away from you again, checking the situation in the street, but he stiffened at your persistence - the grip on his swords was so tight that his knuckles turned white.

You decided to be less of a brat and give him an inch. Only one though.

"Besides, you could beat him easy. Don't see why we have to hide." Your voice sounded petulant, like a child's, to your own ears. But the words seemed to breathe new life into your crew mate.

He glanced back at you from the corner of his eye, gaze flicking over your face for a second too long, before he trained it on the Marines once more. "I must be hallucinating because that almost sounded like a compliment."

It was your turn to tell him to shut up. The ghost of a grin pulled at his lips hearing the embarrassment in your voice.

"Shit!" Your quiet sulking was dashed with the panic in his voice. He scrambled backwards further behind the obstructing barrel pulling you with him.

"Fuck, what?!" You shot at him irritatedly, doing your best not to land on your ass in the dust.

"They're coming this way!" He whisper-shouted at you, dark eyes wide as he reached to pull one of his swords from its sheath at his side.

This was bad. All teasing aside, it was a smart choice to stay hidden and out of the Marines' way until you made it back to the ship (hopefully, with your Captain in tow sooner rather than later) -- as Luffy once told you, not everything can be solved with violence. And you were too darn hot to be engaging in battle right now. The crisp sea breeze aboard the Merry was calling to you.

The Marine didn't know your face, most people didn't, for despite your earlier protests at hiding you preferred to fight from the shadows (you were the ship's assassin of sorts). She only knew Zoro's. And since his most prominent feature was hidden behind a large hood all you had to do was make sure she couldn't see his face. So you did the only thing you could think to do.

You pulled Zoro up by his shirt and backed him against the nearest building behind you. He let out a strained 'oof!' as he hit the limestone wall. You didn't give him a chance to protest before you were pressing yourself into his front and smashing your mouth against his.

Zoro went rigid at the action, his shock evident in the way his hands shot up to grip your shoulders, holding your body a hair's breadth away from his despite the hand fisted in his shirt and your lips mushed against his. He could have pushed you away entirely if he wanted to but he knew what you were doing.

You could hear the Marines behind you questioning another citizen. You moved your mouth against his clumsily, trying to communicate through touch that he needed to look less like he was being attacked, and more like he actually wanted this. You cupped the back of his neck with your free hand and traced your fingers over his skin in an oddly comforting gesture to loosen him up.

Zoro hesitantly kissed you back, lips moulding to your own, as the tension left his posture and he relaxed into you slowly. You hummed into his mouth as his calloused hands slid from your shoulders and came to rest on your hips. His hands were so hot against your bare skin that it was chilling. Sweat trickled down your spine as your whole body flushed in response to his touch.

It felt nice. Too nice. And clearly Zoro agreed because he deepened the kiss, nose bumping yours as he changed the angle, exploratory tongue flitting out to request permission. You wanted to protest, push him away, but instead your lips parted instinctually. Obediently. You felt him smile against your mouth, and it made your stomach flip, heat pooling between your legs.

You felt as if you were swimming underwater, the sounds and sensations of the world around you muffled and far off. All you could feel and taste was Zoro. Instead of shoving at his chest you gripped his shirt tighter, so tight that you couldn't feel your fingers, grounding yourself so you didn't get completely lost in him.

His face was warm and his lips surprisingly soft, in harsh contrast to his rough hands pawing at your waist. You weren't a small woman but he still dwarfed you in size -- his frame curled around you as he dipped to better accommodate you against him. It was a soft gesture that made you feel giddier than it should.

He tasted like sea salt and ale. You inhaled his earthy signature of spices and sandalwood, the scent clinging to the inside of your lungs.

Your consciousness bubbled to the surface as a loud crash sounded behind you, your ears ringing harshly as you re-entered reality. The realisation of your predicament and the current position you were in slowly sank into your brain and you pulled gently against the hands holding you.

When Zoro failed to let you go you sank your teeth into his bottom lip, the man cursing you loudly as he reared back and away from you, bumping his head against the wall behind him in the process. You held in a laugh, placing your hand flat against his chest, and smoothing out the wrinkled fabric you had clenched so tightly only seconds before.

You shook your head at him slowly and turned your face to the side to surreptitiously check your rear. Zoro stilled in place as it dawned on him that you were supposed to be stealthy, his long fingers flexing against your bare skin where he still held your waist, keeping you flush against him. Thank fuck your remaining crew mates hadn't been here to see your little show, they'd never let you live it down.

You slumped in relief as your eyes confirmed that the Marines had moved on -- your plan worked. You turned around to smugly announce your victory only to find yourself chest to chest and almost nose to nose with Zoro. Your hand was still pressed against his sternum right over his wildly thumping heart. You flushed, your cheeks heating despite your wishes, as you blinked up at him.

The irritation that had been twisting his face only moments before morphed into a cocky smirk. His arms were still around your waist and he took the opportunity to fondle the tie at your waist that held your skirt up with a thumb and forefinger. You tensed, unprepared for the familiarity of the action. Your thighs clenched together involuntarily seeking friction.

This was the closest you'd ever been to Zoro minus your sparring sessions. But this felt very different than when you were trying to knock him on his ass.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked gruffly, his voice lower and thicker than usual. You admired his lips as he spoke, kiss-swollen and flushed a pretty pink.

You forced your eyes to look anywhere but at his face, worried your staring would betray your internal feelings.

"I-" Any snarky comments died in your throat, because honestly you were as curious as he was. "I don't know," you mumbled, staring hard at the rings decorating your fingers as they lay splayed against his chest.

You sucked in a breath as he crowded your space this time.

"Well, they say the second time's the charm." Zoro mumbled against your cheek, his nose brushing your temple. You swallowed thickly and tried hard to work a scowl onto your face as you pulled away to look up at him.

"Pretty sure it's third time's the charm, dumbass," you sassed with a roll of your eyes . He was such an idiot. You ignored the thought that flitted through your mind that it was sort of endearing.

It wasn't until you finally looked at his expression that you realised the implication your words held and you gulped, blinking up at him rapidly, heart rate skyrocketing.

His shit-eating grin widened, all white teeth and tanned dimples. You didn't even have the energy to be mad about it because he was so stupidly gorgeous when he smiled. If it wasn't for the ruddy hue working its way onto his cheeks you'd be self conscious about your own obvious attraction to him. He let out a puff of air as he looked into your eyes, his breath fanning across your lips and making you shiver in his hold.

He was close again, so close his lips brushed your own when he spoke, "Just say you want me."

#zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #op fanfic #my fic #just say you want me #🌜luna writes🌛

[daddymilker691]

Stephen wished he hadn’t done it at first but it was he just couldn’t back down from a dare besides Cheryl his gf and her friend Jane had been teasing him relentlessly and it was Halloween you won’t do it the two girls laughed who says Stephen replied go on then Cheryl giggled we will get you dressed up in a Halloween costume of our choosing he swaggered across the room will I be a vampire a Frankenstein monster he laughed loudly the two girls laughed and giggled oh no that’s far to common we have your costume already laid out on the bed upstairs when he got upstairs he couldn’t believe what he saw laid out on the bed a pink frilly maids outfit a wig shoes and a cream that removed all hair . He shouted down the stairs you two are mad I’m not wearing that a shout from Cheryl replied oh yes you are Stephanie he blushed crimson and slipped the dress on oh well he thought a dare is a dare and I stand to win a two hundred pounds hurry up Stephanie Jane shouted and they both burst into peels of unbridled laughter we are taking you out you have got to go trick or treating unsteady on his heels Stephen walked down the stairs in his heels he hated to admit it but this outfit made him feel incredibly turned on to the point he found himself blushing his wife and Jane helped him into the ford escort that was waiting outside the flat where are we going he said in a rather worried voice why can’t we do it around here ? Cheryl laughed because in the posher parts of London the sweets and treats tend to be much more exclusive I mean you like Ferro Roche don’t you darling and even if you don’t me and Jane do again they fell into peels of laughter I fucking hate you two he thought to himself as the car swept through south London and over Chelsea Bridge past Sloane Square and up into the far more affluent area of Knightsbridge into a square what might have been described as a millionaires haunt a rather apt description considering it was Halloween the car parked up outside a large rather daunting front door he stepped out of the car the jeers of his wife and Cheryl followed him as he walked up the steps come on Stephanie get us some sweeties and they both fell about laughing as he walked up the steps feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and excitement , he knocked on the door using the heavy lions head door knocker he heard steps echo down the very wide hallway a butler in full outfit answered the door Stephan stammered trick or treat the butler said nothing but looked him up and down the master of the house is upstairs I’ll go and get him Master Bates came down in a royal blue smoking jacket and dismissed the Butler you had better come in said Master Bates we usually get the kids bloody pain if you ask me so it’s trick or treat is it hmm how does this sound if you lift that pretty dress up I’ll give you a very nice treat indeed Stephen felt himself blush but couldn’t deny how excited he was he raised his pretty pink dress up over his waist as Master Bates fed on his rampant cockette , meanwhile it was cold in the car and Cheryl and Jane were getting rather about the length of time Stephen had been away ( Christ said Cheryl I hope he’s not being beaten up or something he’s been ages ) Jane said I’ll go and have a peep through the letter box she wished she hadn’t for what she saw astonished her there was Stephen that pretty dress up over his waist groaning loudly as Master Bates sucked and pleasured him on his knees revenge is a dish best served warm .

[codenamesazanka]

random idea.

＊

“—Father says I can't be a Hero without a quirk. The kids at preschool say that too. They said you gotta have a super strong quirk in order to fight the bad guys, and save people, like All Might!” The energy in the exclamation nearly tilts the boy over, but he steadies himself before continuing. “But Mikkun said I was like All Might, because I was nice to him and Tomo-chan. I didn't use a quirk or anything, I only played with them. So maybe even if I don't have a quirk, I can still be a Hero, right? I will still be nice and help people.”

“Indeed, that is what a Hero does.” The man says, smiling. “However—what would you do about the Villains? The bad people who do terrible things?”

The boy pauses to think, looking very solemn.

“I'll still help them," the boy says. "I'll make them happy and then they will stop being mean. So I'll become their friend.”

Though the child does not have her eyes, his gaze conveys a similar intensity. The boy meant every word.

The man laughs. “How wonderful! Truly, that is a wonderful desire.” He kneels down, meeting the boy face to face. “Then, I believe in you. I hope you will achieve your dream.”

He receives a beaming smile. Nauseating, how identical it is.

“In fact, let me help you with it. You say you don't have a quirk? Well, I can give you one. Ah, that is my quirk - I give people quirks. I give them power. I believe you are worthy! So allow me to gift you this.

“I ask only one thing. A Hero must never be daunted by evil, you know. Malice, rage, grief, desperation, fear - In your journey to help people, you'll encounter all those negative emotions. You'll eventually feel them in your own heart. But as long as you can resist that darkness, this power is yours to control. You can be a Hero...”

#Shimura Tenko #All For One #nalslastworkingbraincell #fanfic #fanfiction #nalwrites #eh. doesn't actually work out but.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Galileo Galilei Main Story

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Not proofread.

Galileo brought me to the university's research lab. It was a place I had visited once before, back when I had just met him.

Galileo: "I have a lecture now. You'll have to stay here until it's over."

Mitsuki: "Okay. Um, why did you bring me here?"

Galileo: "Because I can't just leave you alone."

From his tone, it seemed like he wanted to ensure I wouldn't wander off on my own in their hideout.

(But just waiting around doesn't seem right.)

(And to truly understand this person...)

Mitsuki: "Galileo, is there anything I can do to help?"

Galileo: "Help?"

Mitsuki: "I think to get to know you, I need to get closer first."

Galileo: "I see."

He seemed to understand my intention, but...

Galileo: "There's nothing you can do."

Galileo: "Also, don't even think about contacting Professor Ayscough just because we're in the same building."

Mitsuki: "I won't do anything like that. I haven't forgotten about the conditions."

After I responded, he turned away, ending the conversation.

Galileo: "I'm leaving now. Feel free to do whatever you want in this room."

With those parting words, he left and closed the door.

Left alone, I breathed out to ease the tension.

(He's right, I probably can't assist a university professor.)

(But at this rate, understanding him seems like a daunting task.)

Looking around the lab, I noticed there wasn't a speck of dust in the room, and the bookshelves were neat and tidy.

He seemed to be a very meticulous person.

(Come to think of it, they say you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their bookshelf.)

Recalling that one's interests, hobbies, and thoughts are reflected in the books they read, I scanned the spines of the books on the shelf.

(There are mostly astronomy and academic books. Hmm?)

Amidst the well-worn academic books, my eyes suddenly fell on a particular book.

For some reason, that one old book was placed on the outside of the bookend.

(I wonder what book this is. Um, 'Concerning the Two'...)

(No good. The cover is so worn out that I can't read the title or the author.)

I flipped through the pages and found that I could read the contents.

(If he's holding onto this beat-up book, it's gotta be one he really loves.)

(Since he said I could do as I please in this room...)

I sat on a chair and opened the book once again.

After flipping through the pages for a few hours, I raised my head at the sound of the bell and looked out the window to find the sky had turned red.

(It's already this late. I got so absorbed in the book.)

At that moment, Galileo returned.

Mitsuki: "Ah, welcome back."

Galileo: "That's..."

His widened eyes focused on what I had in my hands.

Mitsuki: "Sorry for reading this without permission."

Mitsuki: "Somehow, this book caught my eye. I haven't finished reading it yet, so can I borrow it?"

Galileo: "........."

(Galileo?)

He furrowed his eyebrows in silence, wearing a somewhat bitter expression.

Mitsuki: "Was this book important?"

(Maybe he had a sentimental attachment to it. I shouldn't have read it without permission.)

Galileo: "No. I told you to do as you please."

Galileo: "You're free to pick any book you want."

Mitsuki: "Then, I'll borrow it. Thank you."

I thanked him, but he was not looking at me anymore.

(His expression just now looked angry or maybe sad.)

(Is this book something special to him?)

I looked down at the book in my hand and gently stroked the faded cover.

Later, when we returned to the hideout, he led me to that door.

Mitsuki: "Galileo, why are we here?"

Galileo: "You asked earlier if there was anything you could help with."

Galileo: "You straightforwardly asked it to get to know me better."

Mitsuki: "I did ask, indeed."

Galileo: "Then, in light of your willingness to face the truth, I will assign you a role."

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Galileo: "But beyond this door."

He opened the door, revealing the misty space.

Mitsuki: "The door doesn't open for another month once it's been opened."

Galileo: "There's no need to wait with this door. It has been modified to remove that restriction."

(So it can be opened anytime?)

As he stepped through the door, instantly, the mist cleared, revealing the familiar hallway.

Mitsuki: "It's the same as before. Why does the hallway appear when you pass through?"

Galileo: "You ask too many questions."

Mitsuki: "I'm sorry, but it's just so mysterious."

Galileo: "Well, never mind. I'll tell you as a warning."

He let out a sigh and touched the harness belt hanging from his shoulder to his waist.

Galileo: "This harness belt stabilizes the anomalies in space."

Galileo: "In other words, if you were to pass through alone, you'd just get swallowed by the distorted space."

Even when he spoke it in a piercing manner, I was simply surprised.

(He not only created a door that allows time travel but also managed to resolve spatial anomalies.)

(This person is really a "genius," after all.)

If his ideas and research were to spread, surely he could change the world, just like Galileo Galilei did in his time.

Galileo: "If we proceed together from here, you'll catch a glimpse of my purpose."

Galileo: "In exchange, I'll need you to fulfill a role. It's what you yourself wished for."

(His purpose...)

He said he would put an end to this world.

If I follow him, I might end up aiding his destructive purpose.

Galileo: "Even if you come along, there's no guarantee you'll get the information you desire."

Galileo: "However, if you're prepared to seek the truth, I'll take you with me."

Almost indifferently, he glanced at me.

(To understand him, I might have to cooperate with his purpose.)

I want to stop him, but doing that would be the opposite.

(But perhaps this is a chance.)

(If I act alongside him, maybe I can stop him.)

(Also...)

With determination, I tightly clenched my fists.

Mitsuki: "I'll go."

Mitsuki: "When I decided to come here, I decided to confirm your truth with my own eyes."

Galileo: "........"

As if assessing my resolve, he gazed at me.

Eventually, his gaze shifted toward the end of the hallway.

Galileo: "Then, let's go."

We walked down the seemingly endless hallway, ensuring not to lose sight of him.

After a while, we arrived at a quiet grassland on a windless night.

(I don't know where we are. What are we supposed to do here?)

As I pondered, I suddenly looked up at the sky.

Mitsuki: "The moon..."

Above us hung a round moon stained in a blood-like red hue.

Galileo: "It's a lunar eclipse."

Galileo: "The Earth comes between the sun and the moon, blocking the sun's light. The phenomenon of the red moon is primarily due to the scattering of sunlight by the Earth's atmosphere."

Mitsuki: "I see."

(I understand the explanation, but it's still a little scary.)

Even though it's an astronomical phenomenon, the red moon against the pitch-black sky feels ominous and oppressive.

Galileo: "Haah..."

At that moment, I heard a heavy sigh. I glanced beside me and saw Galileo wearing a troubled expression.

Mitsuki: "Galileo, are you okay? You look pale, and you suddenly seem..."

Galileo: "Don't touch me."

Upon hearing those words, my hand, which I had instinctively extended, stopped abruptly.

Seeing him lower his gaze as if enduring something, I recalled what Drake had mentioned about the dhampir's constitution.

(Right. I think their bloodlust intensifies during a full moon.)

Mitsuki: "Could it be bloodlust?"

Galileo: "........"

He sighed and opened his eyes, his trembling purple eyes reflecting me.

Then he quickly averted them.

Galileo: "No, I'm suppressing the bloodlust with Blanc. What's affecting me now is the miasma."

(Miasma?)

I frowned at the unfamiliar term.

Galileo: "My condition doesn't matter. What matters is..."

He handed me a pen and rolled-up paper.

Upon unfolding it, I found it was a map.

Galileo: "We're currently here. Mark the direction I indicate from here."

Mitsuki: "Understood."

He took a deep breath, as if to release some pain, and glanced at the compass he had taken out.

Galileo: "Mark 220 degrees southwest from here."

Mitsuki: "Got it. Is there something in that direction?"

Galileo: "It's what I'm looking for."

(So, it means I have to find out for myself.)

I looked in the direction he indicated, but all I could see were mountains and the night sky.

Without understanding the significance of this action, I marked the map as instructed.

Galileo: "Let's move."

He said this as he started walking, still appearing to be in pain.

(Is he really okay? Galileo...)

Although I thought about saying something, remembering his earlier rejection, I swallowed my words.

We crossed the hallway once more and marked the map at another location.

Once again, the red moon shone overhead.

Galileo: "Ugh... Hah..."

Upon returning to the hideout, Galileo leaned against the closed door, exhaling deeply.

Mitsuki: "I'll help you back to your room."

Galileo: "It's fine. I'll recover in a while."

Mitsuki: "But I can't just leave you like this!"

I tried to offer support out of concern, but he pushed me away.

Galileo: "I told you. I'm not here to make friends."

Mitsuki: "........" 

Galileo: "Don't forget your purpose." 

Galileo: "That's it for today. Rest in your room." 

I watched him leave, unable to say anything more.

That night... 

I sat on the bed, reflecting on today's events.

(I found this book in his office today.)

It was the old, unreadable book I borrowed from him.

His expression directed at this book still haunts me.

(And then we went together on the night of the lunar eclipse.)

He gave me a role, but inside, I was afraid to do it.

(All I did was mark the map, but...)

I looked back but still couldn't understand what that was all about.

It's probably connected to his purpose.

(He was using the compass to check directions, like he was searching for stars.)

(Is he looking for something?)

(But why go through such pain?)

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo: "No, I suppressed the bloodlust with Blanc. What's affecting me now is the miasma."

---------Flashback Ends--------

I remembered his distressed state, and worry flooded over me again.

(I hope he's okay.)

(What is miasma, though? It didn't affect me physically, but...)

(Could it be something that only affects vampires and dhampirs?)

As I tried to organize my thoughts, more mysteries arose, making me sigh.

(There are too many things I don't understand. I need some water to clear my head.)

It was past midnight, and the living room was silent.

After drinking some water and preparing to return to my room, a figure passed through the darkness.

My shoulders tensed momentarily, but then I saw a faint glint of silvery-white hair.

(Was that Galileo just now?)

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#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp jp #ikevamp translations #cybird #galileo galilei

[transbookoftheday]

The Left Hand of Dog by Si Clarke

Escaping intergalactic kidnappers has never been quite so ridiculous.

When Lem and her faithful dog, Spock, retreat from the city for a few days of hiking in Algonquin Park, the last thing they expect is to be kidnapped by aliens. No, scratch that. The last thing they expect is to be kidnapped by a bunch of strangely adorable intergalactic bounty hunters aboard a ship called the Teapot.

After Lem falls in with an unlikely group of allies - including a talking horse, a sarcastic robot, an overly anxious giant parrot, and a cloud of sentient glitter gas - the gang must devise a cunning plan to escape their captors and make it back home safely.

But things won't be as easy as they first seem. Lost in deep space and running out of fuel, this chaotic crew are faced with the daunting task of navigating an alien planet, breaking into a space station, and discovering the real reason they're all there...

Packed with preposterous scenarios, quirky characters, and oodles of humour, The Left Hand of Dog tackles complex subjects such as gender, the need to belong, and the importance of honest communication. Perfect for fans of Charlie Jane Anders' Victories Greater than Death - especially ones who enjoy endless references to Red Dwarf, Star Trek, and Doctor Who. This book will show you that the universe is a very strange place indeed.

#the left hand of dog #si clarke #transfem #nonbinary #trans book of the day #trans books #queer books #bookblr #booklr

[girliestwomaninstem]

22nd Oct || Day 1 of 100 days of code/productivity

today I created a general plan for what I want to accomplish over the next couple months in terms of learning to code. I had a Codeacademy subscription that I had totally forgotten about so I logged in and enrolled into the Learn C Skill Path course - which teaches you the fundamentals of C programming. I chose this course because my university prefers to teach their intro to programming course in C (all Computer Science students _must_ take this course as a prerequisite in order to progress to harder courses that will only build up on the knowledge acquired in here). I've heard it's pretty daunting for a beginner to learn programming in C so let's see how it goes. Just because I've heard scary things does not necessarily mean I should quit so soon. I'm no less than the nerdy guy in class who developed a game at the age of 11 or something, haha.

The course seems to be very beginner-friendly, indeed. and the code environment as well as the terminal are integrated into the website so that we can practice as we learn, so that's good. I'm liking it so far!

The first lesson included the basics of C - everything from:

ensuring you have the correct syntax written down so that the code is able to compile

escape sequences (\n -> add new line and \t -> add new tab)

line comments and block comments that are used to document code as you go

I also learnt how to compile a C program using gcc, yay!

that's it for today, it is now nearly 5:30 am as we speak, and I was not able to get any work done all day because we have a religious festival going on from now through this upcoming month, so needless to say I'll be busy helping my family with preparations. but I really hope to commit to learning how to code for at least 2-3 hours every day, as it would make a massive difference. g'night besties! <3

#100dop #coding #student #stem #code #codeblr #100 days of productivity #programming #100 days of code #student life #study blog #study motivation #studyblr #studyspo #studying #study aesthetic #dark academia #light academia #first post #journal #adhd brain